


No One Mourns the Wicked

by asilentherald



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Discrimination, Drama, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Magic, Mildly Crack-ish, Musical References, Musicals, Rebellion, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 151,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7662283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asilentherald/pseuds/asilentherald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After witnessing an anti-sorcerer hate crime, Merlin leaves his family in Ealdor for King Uther Pendragon's capital city of Camelot, looking for safety and answers about his own magic. Instead he gets roped into a musical production of Wicked, a banned play by the King's decree back during the Great Purge, being put on by none other than Morgana Pendragon. It's the last thing he should do if he wants to keep a low profile in a city he knows is a powder keg, ready for the Great Purge renewed, but he finds more than enough reasons--Arthur Pendragon, co-star and all-around awkward arse, at least at first, among them--to try, dare I say it, defying gravity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No One Mourns the Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> So. This fic, which I fondly and unimaginatively called wicked!fic, is my baby. I started writing it two and a half years ago: the first draft took my 9 months (born full-term). It's taken me since then to edit it and to be happy with the final product. And, well, this is it. I'm setting it free on AO3. 
> 
> Why did I write a sorta-dystopian AU that's sort of inspired by and revolves around the plot and music of Wicked using, obviously, the characters and plots and whatnot of Merlin? I love the musical, and I can't tumblr's imaginings weren't influencing factors. Also, I desperately wanted to write Arthur doing Popular in a song and dance number and Merlin on stage with him, mortified. 
> 
> So I did. I got a bit carried away with the story, but I assure you, that scene exists. 
> 
> It's kind of absurd. Many times I've looked at this fic and thought, what the HELL possessed me to write such an oddity, and such a long one at that? So I'm just gonna ask--bear with me. It's weird, undoubtedly, but I had a lot of fun putting this story together. It was a splendid experience and it's time to let it free on the interwebz. 
> 
> I'll post it in three phases--Act One (up through Chapter 11, Defying Gravity), Intermission (one rather long chapter), and Act Two (Chapter 13, Thank Goodness, through the end, Chapter 22, Finale). I'm aiming for between a few days and a week, maximum, between postings. 
> 
> As always, thank you a million times over to [SheWhoStumbles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SheWhoStumbles/pseuds/SheWhoStumbles) who was there for the entire progression--a billion and a half questions, I don't know how many drafts and versions, crazy texts at odd hours of the night ("what if... Arthur wears a feather boa during Popular" "Go to sleep")--and then some, since she let me bounce ideas off her back before I even started writing. For real. She's beyond da best. Everyone go read her fics. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the ride :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [No One Mourns the Wicked](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fplGR59YHHs)

**Merlin**

 

Merlin reels from the bright flash of light and runs away from it as soon as he can see. His heart pounds as he slides across the wet pavement. The sight of blood on the ground is burned into his eyes, flashing red in the pitch darkness. He hears shouts and shots being fired behind him. He slows to look over his shoulder at the wrong moment. A body veers out of an alley he’s passing and pins him to the ground. Merlin gasps for air, but the man’s crushing his throat with his forearm. He grabs Merlin’s face with his other hand and forces him to look at him.

“Not a word to them, got it?” he hisses. He digs his nails into Merlin’s cheeks. “Got it?”

A gun fires, and the man grunts in pain. Merlin shoves him off and scrambles to his feet, massaging his neck as the Enforcement officials, all dressed in Camelot red, surround his assailant and drag him away. The man’s eyes never leave Merlin’s, focused even through the glaze of pain.

“Son?” a man says, shaking Merlin’s shoulder. He flinches. “You all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says faintly.

“Did you see what happened?”

Merlin pauses. The man told him not to say, but it didn’t really matter, not when he’d nearly killed two people in front of him – two people like Merlin.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to ask you to come to the station. We’ll get you patched up,” he says, nodding at Merlin’s head. Merlin touches a spot that hurts worse and his hand comes away bloody and dirty. He looks at his clothes – muddy, wet, and essentially ruined. His mother isn’t going to be happy.

\---

It’s late when his parents arrive to pick him up. Will is at home, but he’s apparently impatient for an explanation. The walk back is silent, what with the Enforcement officer walking a few feet behind them all the way to their tiny home on the edge of town. Before he leaves, the officer tells them to be careful.

“The amount of hate crimes around this area has skyrocketed recently,” he says. “But, then again, so have the magical attacks.”

“Are you still trying to find the Greenhouse Fire culprits?” Balinor asks.

The officer nods.

“No luck yet, but we know they’re connected with the Priestesses,” he replies. Balinor makes a face, but the officer doesn’t see it. Merlin gnaws on his lip.

“And the hate crimes?”

“All victims have been members of the Druid Group,” he states. “There’ll be an article in the paper tomorrow morning, given what Merlin’s told us.”

“Looking forward to it. Good luck, officer,” says Balinor grimly. Hunith thanks him as well as she closes the door. The locks click and Merlin can feel both of his parents’ demeanors change entirely.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Balinor shouts.

“I was taking a shortcut! I always take that route!”

“Yes, but there was another attack there two weeks ago. We told you—”

“Fine. Sorry. Don’t yell at me for something that’s already done. We’re here and we’re safe. That’s what matters, right?” says Merlin. Balinor shakes his head.

“We will never be safe, Merlin. It’s a damn miracle—,” he cuts himself off. Balinor crosses into the living room and sits on the couch. Merlin jumps when he realizes Will has been there the whole time louging in his favorite chair. Merlin narrows his eyes at him.

“So. You gonna tell us what happened?” Will asks. Hunith takes Merlin by the elbow and sits him down. He sighs loudly.

“I was walking back the same way I always do from work,” Merlin says, absently touching the fresh bandages on his head. “I heard some shouting, and I caught a few words of what they were saying. Something about the Priestesses. I looked around the corner and I saw they were wearing their Druid badges. It looked like there was a meeting nearby and they were just having a smoke. So I… listened a little?”

Will smacked his forehead. “You dumbass. You should’ve run.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get the chance. These guys came out of nowhere at the other end of the alley and started beating the crap out of them, saying they heard the stuff about the Priestesses and they wanted to know more, and a load of other really terrible things,” says Merlin. He shuts his eyes. “It was horrible. The Enforcement officers showed up and used a flare, and then I ran.”

He ends his story there. The last thing Merlin wants to do is worry them more with the thug’s threats when they’re essentially empty. He saw the officials arrest the man and his friends and send them away.

“Love,” Hunith says in a quiet, steady voice. “We’ve talked about you going to Camelot before. I think now’s the time to go.”

“What? But – I’m happy here! I’m with you, and I can protect you—”

“You’re not happy,” Will cuts in, “and yeah, you’ve got more magic than the rest of us, but you can barely control it. Something’s screwy with you, we all know it, and that’s not safe.”

“Will’s right,” Balinor says sharply. “If your magic had flared up when you were out there, you probably wouldn’t be alive, Merlin. They’d have killed you on the spot, especially since you’re not part of Druid.”

“Being part of that damn support group would make me a bigger target!” Merlin shouts. “Those badges are glowing neon signs.”

“Yes, but it also means you have people like you around all the time,” Balinor states evenly. “No, you’re not quite like everyone else, but… we’ve discussed this. We can’t protect you anymore. These flares are getting worse, and you need to go to someone who can help you better than I can.”

“But – you have magic, too,” sputters Merlin. The same old question tumbles out. “How am I so different from you? Why?”

“You haven’t come into your powers. Something else is at work here, and I don’t know why,” Balinor says vaguely. Merlin scoffs and stands up.

“No. I don’t care what’s wrong with me. I need to be here.”

“Merlin, we will be _fine_ ,” his mother says, tugging him back onto the couch by the wrist. “Your father is more than capable of keeping us safe. I know a few things, too, and Will’s not exactly defenseless. It’s _you_ we’re worried about.”

Merlin looks between the members of his family, imploring them to say something other than this, but he quickly sees they’re right. His magic hasn’t stabilized the way it does for others by the age of fifteen or so. No, at twenty-four, Merlin is still unable to predict when his magic will flare or what it will do or what triggers it. It’s been more frequent and more intense in the last year or so, and there have been several near misses with bystanders.

“I don’t have any skills,” Merlin says weakly. “My degree is useless.”

“A bit,” Will snorts, “but maybe in Camelot you can find a job that pays you to you read old books all the time.”

“I can call Gaius,” Hunith says, “and see what he can do.”

She goes straight to the archaic cord phone on the kitchen wall and huddles into the corner as she speaks. Merlin turns back to his father.

“Are you sure this is the best thing to do? Camelot isn’t going to welcome an untrained, freakish sorcerer any more than Ealdor,” Merlin says, “let alone one who isn’t documented with the Druid Group.”

“No, but you stand a better chance of fading into the crowd there,” Balinor replies. “Things are getting worse here, more violent. Druid can’t offer you any protection, not at this point. I want to be sure you’re not caught in their problems.”

“Are you going to leave, too?” Merlin asks.

“We’ve been considering it. We have a place ready in Mercia if we need to flee, but we’d need help getting out without the proper papers,” he replies, not looking directly at Merlin.

“I suppose… you’ll be safer, too, if I go,” Merlin murmurs. Neither Will nor Balinor refutes him.

He’s been the crux of their problems as a family since he failed to come into his powers. Before, sure, they had other issues – things Hunith and Balinor refuse to discuss, even now, so many years later – but for nine long years, as the tensions between the magical and non-magical communities grew in Camelot, as the attacks on Druid members became a daily occurrence, as the newspapers begin to speculate about another Purge to keep the insurgents in line – Merlin has been nothing but trouble for them.

At this point, him staying here poses a greater threat to all of them than him leaving. It’s for the best, for everyone. It’s that simple.

Merlin stands up.

“I’ll go start packing,” he announces. Will stands and follows him to the stairs. Hunith walks back in before they get halfway up.

“I’ve spoken to him,” she says. “He doesn’t have a permanent living space for you, but he’ll let you stay with him until you find a flat. Gaius says he can find work for you, and he promises to help you with your problem.”

“Good,” Merlin says. It’s a _good thing_ , and he knows it, but it still feels a bit like a defeat. “When should I leave?”

“There’s a train that’s passing through a station on the edge of the Darkling Quarter of Camelot. It stops here at nine tomorrow morning,” Hunith says. “Gaius has given me instructions for you to follow to get to him.”

“That’s so… soon,” Merlin sighs. “Okay. I’ll pack, then I’ll call up the shop and tell them I’m shipping off.”

“I’ve already called them, love.”

“Oh. Thanks, mum.”

“Merlin?” Hunith calls, stopping him again. He turns around at the top of the steps and looks down past where Will hesitates, too. “We don’t want this any more than you do.”

Merlin smiles at her as reassuringly as he can. He waits until Will is in his room before shutting the door and collapsing on the bed. Will starts pulling the drawers out and throwing his clothes on the floor.

“You’re just raring for me to leave, aren’t you?”

“More of mum’s cooking for me,” he says with a wolfish grin. He tosses a fresh pack of underwear into the pile. “Merls, you’ve been talking about going to Camelot for _years_. This is it!”

“No, _we’ve_ been talking about it,” he pouts. “I don’t want to go without you.”

“Look, I know I’m your only friend, the kindest and wisest and handsomest man you know – ow!” he shouts when Merlin throws a book at him. “All I mean is we’ve been dreaming about this. You’re gonna get the chance to go and _be_ someone. Ealdor ain’t big enough for either of us.”

“Right,” Merlin says, unable to stop the grin on his face. It’s their old childhood motto, after all. “I just wish—”

“Look, I’ll get there eventually. Things aren’t easy right now, and I’ve gotta make sure mum and dad are safe, right? That’s what we’re both doing, keeping our family safe,” Will says. “There’s no better cause than that.”

“Sure, says the man who goes to Druid meetings every damn week,” Merlin mutters. “You haven’t got an ounce of magic in you, Will. Haven’t they figured it out?”

“Oh, hell yeah. They don’t mind, so long as I don’t say anything to anyone, and show up after all the therapy and shit is over,” Will replies. He’s reached Merlin’s closet now and is holding up a red shirt and a blue one. He shrugs and throws them both on the floor.

“They’ll wrinkle!” Merlin says, throwing himself back on the bed. “I’ve got to carry all this on my back, too, William.”

“Don’t _William_ me,” he grumbles. He tosses a pair of shoes back into the closet.

Merlin stands up and starts folding the clothes. They pack in silence, working through his wardrobe, adding only his absolute favorite books and a notebook to the necessities. Will holds up the sculpture of a dragon Balinor had made for him for his fifth birthday. Will, who’d recently joined their family after his parents died, has a bear made of the same wood. Merlin nods and Will packs the dragon gingerly between a few shirts.

It all fits into one brown bag, sadly enough. They sit on the bed and stare at the bag in the center of the room when it’s all over.

“Write us a letter, yeah?” Will says, shoving his shoulder lightly.

“Yeah,” Merlin grins. “You’d better keep your promise. You’ll come to Camelot too someday and we’re going to take the world by storm.”

“That we will,” he says firmly.

Merlin knows it’s probably not true. Will doesn’t realize how much Merlin knows about what he gets up to at these alleged Druid meetings. Will’s in too deep in a cause he shouldn’t even be part of; he chews his lip nervously at the thought. He knows they’re both grown men and can take care of themselves, but Merlin wishes he could just talk some sense into his friend.

“You sure you don’t want to come now?”

“Nah. I’ve got a lot going for me here,” he says, grinning hugely. He yawns. “Bedtime. See you in the morning?”

“Yeah. ‘Night.”

He leaves, banging the door shut as he goes. Merlin sighs and curls up on the bed. He feels a trill of excitement at his core, but it’s too soon. He touches the bandages on his head again, and he remembers what the men looked like – animals, determined to tear the Druids to shreds. Merlin shudders. He wants everyone like him to be safe – that was the whole point of telling the Enforcement officers the truth – but it won’t come any time soon if that’s the way people react to so little magic as lighting a cigarette.

After a while, Merlin gets up, changes into pajamas, and goes to the window to close the curtains. He stops.

Two figures all in black stand across the street looking up at the house. Merlin strains, but he can’t recognize them specifically. The two men walk away. He pulls the curtains shut and turns off the light. He curls into himself under the covers and exhales. Just before he passes out, he realizes that finally – _finally_ – his might be able to get his life under control. Finally, his life might change. Even well on his way to sleep, in spite of the circumstances that brought him to this realization, this situation, Merlin smiles, looking forward to the dawn.

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

Gwen drums on the countertop and looks up from her catalog. Ten more minutes until closing. It was a slow day – the chances of someone coming in are so slim—

The bell over the door rings. Gwen sighs and slides the catalog out of view.

“Hello. Just so you know we’re closing in ten,” she says with a smile.

“No problem,” one of the two customers says. She turns away and continues consulting with her friend.

Gwen starts closing up the front of the shop and is halfway to the back room when the door opens again.

“We’re closing!” she calls.

“Ma’am, this’ll only take a minute,” a man says. Gwen turns around: three more people stand in the shop than before. Her original customers look smaller, cornered.

“If you’re not here to buy something, I need you to leave,” Gwen says, getting angry. She walks around the counter into the main shop space.

“You wouldn’t let them stay if you knew what they are,” spits one of the men. He’s tall and imposing, blocking out the late afternoon light streaming through the glass storefront. Gwen crosses her arms and sets her stance.

“I don’t particularly care. The only people I don’t allow in here are bullies,” she states.

“They’re bleeding _sorcerers_ ,” the third, a young woman, says, pointing a shaking hand at the couple.

“Like I said, I don’t care. Now, please leave.”

“We’re not leaving without them,” said the first man. “We’ve got some business to settle, and we don’t want your shiny floor to get dirty.”

“I _will_ call Enforcement if you don’t leave in the next ten seconds.”

Gwen holds up her phone. The three look to each other, the second man edging toward the door. The woman grabs his hand and digs her nails into his skin.

The door opens.

“Aren’t you supposed to close up?” said the newest arrival – Lancelot. He crosses the space to stand beside Gwen. “Is something wrong here?”

“I’m about to call the authorities. They’re threatening violence on my customers.”

“It’s nothin’ they don’t deserve,” the woman screeches. She lunges for the nearest of the two sorcerers. She falls back into a display case in her haste to dodge the attack.

“Out! Now!” Gwen shouts. Lance is already on the phone speaking with the operator on the emergency line. He stares the three assailants down until they scurry out of the shop.

“Yes, I’d like to report an attempted hate crime….”

Gwen turns to the customers. The display case is shattered but they seem to be all right. The one who fell scrambles to her feet and begins apologizing profusely.

“It’s all right,” Gwen interjects. “Really. I’m sorry that just happened to you. Those people were monsters.”

“They’re scared,” the woman says, shaking her head. “They don’t understand people like us, what it’s like. They just think we’re bombs.”

“They think we’re freaks,” her companion adds.

The light catches the Druid badge pinned to the woman’s shirt.

“I don’t think any of that. You’re both welcome here anytime – any sorcerers are welcome in my shop,” Gwen says firmly. “The only people I won’t allow are people like _them._ ”

The woman smiles, but Gwen sees something crumble behind her expression. She looks away. They’re strangers. She can’t ask, but she wants to more than anything.

“If there’s anything I can do—”

“You? We ruined your shop!” the woman’s companion – a rather androgynous person with curly hair and large glasses – gawks at her. The woman nods in agreement. She raises a hand and murmurs a few words. Before Gwen’s eyes the display case reassembles itself. Shards of glass melt together as though they’d never broken apart. Even the pieces of intricate metalwork and jewelry inside come together and end up glistening more brightly than ever.

“That was… thank you. That was incredible,” Gwen says, staring at the case.

“I hope that was all right with you – some people are okay with people like us but seeing magic scares them—”

“It was more than okay. Really,” Gwen insists. “I’d understand if you didn’t want, but please come back again when we’re open and I’ll get you both whatever you like on the house.”

“Oh, you don’t—”

“I insist. It’s absolutely necessary.”

The couple looked to one another, disbelief pure on their faces.

“Thank you,” the woman says. “Honestly. Camelot hasn’t been too kind to us lately. It means a lot.”

Gwen smiles, unsure how to respond. They bid thanks and good-bye and leave the shop arm in arm. Lance is still on the phone giving detailed descriptions of the three assailants, so Gwen carries on closing up shop. She’s locking up the register and the display cases just as he hangs up. He draws the blinds and turns on the alarm system while Gwen holds the front door open for him.

“Hattie’s has one of those signs now too,” Lance notes. Gwen finishes locking up and throws the keys in her purse. She turns around and looks at the neighboring shops. Hattie’s, a café across the cobbled street from her, now bears a shiny sign with bold red letters: NO MAGIC NO SORCERERS.

“That’s the third one on the block,” she murmurs. Lance puts his arm around her shoulder and kisses her curly hair. “I think it’s time to take a stand.”

“You know, I’ve got some spare paints and cardboard at mine,” he says. “Let’s make a sign of our own.”

Gwen, envisioning green letters welcoming the customers Hattie’s and the other shops are going to lose with their hatred, kisses him.

“I think that’s a brilliant idea.”

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

She hangs up the phone, her perfect red nails trailing across the screen. Morgana throws her closet doors open and looks down the long racks of clothes ranging from jeans and t-shirts to ball gowns and glittering evening wear. She dons a sleek green dress and paints her face to bring out her eyes and make her lips pop red. She checks herself in the mirror – modern and stylish, yes, but the colors are bright, and, by the laws of nature, a warning sign – before calling out for Martha.

“Yes, my Lady?” the woman says, panting slightly. She has soapsuds up to her arms. Morgana sighs.

“Never mind, I’ll take care of it. Go back to cleaning,” she says. “Do you know where my black hat is? The one with the wide brim?”

“Ah. Down the hall in the third closet,” says Martha. Morgana starts making her way down the hall, her tall black heels cutting through the utter silence of the palace. “Have you got something planned tonight again?”

“Oh, yes.”

She tilts the hat on her head, puts on a black and white jacket, and descends the great white staircase. Through the window she sees the paparazzi are already there. She grins, then reels it in; she puts on her best _bored out of my mind_ expression and oversized sunglasses and steps into the spotlight. She crosses the gray flagstones of the courtyard, deftly ignoring every flashing camera while managing to give them exactly what they want. She gets into the limousine waiting for her and flashes the cameras a withering look.

“Very nice,” Morgause says, nodding at her outfit.

“I’m hoping to attract attention tonight,” she replies. “We’re going to Lothian first, yes?”

“Absolutely,” she says with a cat-like smile. “Then, we get to work, but it’ll be a short night at the office.”

Morgana nods, looking away at the streets passing them by in a blur.

“Are you certain this will work?” Morgana asks, turning back to Morgause. “I’m not certain Uther will be so easy to fool.”

“Do you think he suspects?”

“No, of course not,” Morgana says with a harsh laugh. “I only mean the proposal is a bit of a stretch.”

“That’s why we’re putting on this show first. You’ve already mentioned it to him before, yes?”

“Twice, yes, but that was before we knew what was under the theater,” Morgana says. She twists the rings on her fingers. “Before, it truly was just a vanity project with a chance of finding something useful to us.”

“We’re close to finding it, sister. I swear, this will work.”

Morgana relaxes at Morgause’s touch on her shoulder.

“You’re right. I trust you. We’ll play our parts and everything will go according to plan,” she says just as the limousine slows to a stop. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” Morgana says with relish as she opens the door, kicking it wider with the heel of her stiletto. They climb smoothly onto the curb where a long line of patrons already awaits. Cameras flash. They make their way through the dark blue doors and into the large space of the club. Other high-class socialites like to come here, both ones who Uther likes and dislikes. Morgana spies a few of the latter and makes a beeline for them.

A while later, she’s had a few drinks, danced a few times, and abandoned her coat in some dark corner of the club. Lothian is one of her favorite places in all of Camelot, and by far her favorite club. She makes her way to the bar where Morgause is speaking with the owner/bartender.

“Gwaine,” she says by way of greeting.

“My Lady,” he says with an exaggerated bow and a sloppy kiss on her hand. “Getting started early tonight, are we?”

“It’s never too early,” Morgause states, handing Morgana a shot of shockingly green liquid. They knock their glasses together and down the shots. Gwaine’s giving them a funny look, but he hands over another pair of shots without hesitation when they ask.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks.

Morgana shrugs. “Bored, I suppose.”

“I expect things would be dull, cooped up at that palace all day,” Gwaine agrees. “Won’t the King be… y’know, royally pissed for this? Plenty of people have seen you out here.”

Morgana flashes him a grin. Gwaine’s smile widens.

“Ah. That’s the plan, is it? Well, you know my thoughts on the matter of the King, even if he is your father,” he adds. Gwaine digs under the bar and produces an old bottle of liquor. It looks like it’s from the Pre-Purge era. Morgana can see Morgause’s mouth begin to water. Gwaine hands it to her. “Bottoms up, ladies. You only live once, yeah?”

“Cheers,” Morgause says before drinking straight from the bottle. Morgana leans across the bar and crooks her finger at Gwaine. He leans closer to her.

“You remember how we got to be friends, yes?” Morgana says, reaching for the chain around his neck. She drags her red nails along the metal, tracing the ring and the half-moon as she speaks. “We’re not going to ask you to pay us back in money, but we want to be able to call in a favor.”

“I can afford to pay you back for the loan ten times over, Morgana,” Gwaine frowns.

“I know. I don’t need the money.”

“Well, no shit, you’re the fucking princess,” Gwaine snorts. “I’d feel better if I paid you back.”

“Consider it an IOU, and we’ll hopefully be calling it in soon. I’m just giving you a little reminder,” says Morgana softly. “Understood?”

Gwaine nods, leaning away.

“Want a Cosmo?”

“God, yes.”

\---

Her head isn’t thanking her the next morning, but Morgana’s glad to be greeted by her face all over the gossip mags and even a few mainstream newspapers. It’s not the only wild night she’s had in the last few weeks, not by a long shot, and while she hasn’t exactly been complaining about the partying, she hopefully won’t need to do it again any time soon.

She eats breakfast and dresses in a white frock with silver embroidery. She paints her lips red and lines her eyes with black, but everything else about her is as plain and honest as anything.

Morgana makes a beeline for Uther’s office. She enters without waiting for his secretary to buzz her in. He’s got the mags and papers spread across his desk and he’s slightly red in the face. Morgana can’t stop a laugh from escaping her lips.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouts the moment he realizes she’s there.

“I’m bored,” she states. “Haven’t I been telling you this?”

“This is hardly the way to cope with boredom for someone in your position!”

“You don’t allow me to do any of the things I want,” Morgana shoots back. She plants both hands on his desk and forces him to look up at her. “I’ve asked time and time again for you to let me open up the DeBois Repertory. That’s all I want.”

“The answer is still no, Morgana,” Uther says, sitting back. “It’s a condemned building.”

“Only because of the Purge,” she spits, “and it’s been like that for over twenty years. There are people who live in the floors above the Repertory and in the buildings around it. If you haven’t destroyed the building yet, I don’t believe you will today.”

“Perhaps I will,” Uther says, standing up.

“Oh? To spite me?”

“To – no. Morgana, I’m denying you this because it’s a silly endeavor, not because of the state of the building,” Uther says, softening quickly. “The media follows you like hunting dogs; they’ll catch wind of whatever you choose to do there, and the whole of Camelot will know.”

“What if I can keep it a secret?”

“How?”

“I’m not as easy prey for the cameras as you think I am,” Morgana says. Uther’s lips tighten. He walks around the desk to stand in front of her.

“You know I’m sorry I can’t put you on the council, Morgana,” says Uther quietly. “It’s nothing to do with you.”

Morgana forces herself to hold her tongue. If she speaks, a lot more than words will come forth in response, and she doesn’t want to murder her father by setting him on fire with magic just yet. She takes a steadying breath.

“I understand,” she says, “but that’s all the more reason to let me have this. I need to keep busy. I refuse to float about this palace all day.”

“And you truly believe putting together a _musical_ will be much better?”

“I did it several times at uni,” Morgana says breezily, “and I loved it. I’d have made a profession of theater production, if I weren’t, you know, me. Indulge me, father. Let me do this. I promise you can come see it when on opening night and no one will even know you’re there.”

Uther sighs, rubbing his eyes. By the curve of his shoulders Morgana already knows she’s won this.

“Will these crazy nights stop?”

“Maybe not completely, but I won’t be driven to drink with such a massive project to undertake,” she says dryly. “I’m not that sort of director.”

“I’ll have the keys sent to you later today,” Uther says, resigned. He starts piling up files and packing them in his briefcase. “Have you considered what you’ll do?”

Morgana’s already smiling.

“I’ve chosen _Wicked_.”

Uther straightens up and stares.

“It’s banned.”

“I know, but I figured if this is a private pet project of mine, no one will ever hear about it,” she says.

“Morgana… you’re testing both me and my laws.”

“When have I done anything less?” she says, tilting her head as sweetly as possible. Uther melts at that and cups her cheek. He presses a kiss to her forehead.

“I trust you to keep this quiet. Will Arthur be involved?”

Morgana frowns. “I hadn’t thought about him.”

“Give him a chance, if he chooses to audition, before turning him down,” says Uther with a wink. “He’s got a good voice, if I recall.”

“Indeed. He did _Les Mis_ with me when we were at uni. He made an excellent Jean Valjean, actually,” Morgana murmurs. She hasn’t even considered her brother yet, but it only makes sense. In all honesty, he’s one of the richest tenors Morgana has ever come across in her years of studying music. It always seemed a pity that he went into Law and gave up theater after the second year of uni.

“I’ve a meeting to attend,” Uther says, startling her out of her thoughts. “Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?”

“I’ll try. I’ll let you know.”

Uther kisses her cheek on the way out, bearing a pleased smile all the way. Morgana waits until she’s back in her chambers and the key arrives in a dusty black box. She dismisses the servant quickly and calls Morgause. By the time she picks up, she can hardly contain her excitement.

“We’re in.”

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

Leon’s email is short: _shit’s heating up on the fringes_ , and it comes with an attachment. Arthur opens it and finds a scan of a local paper – Ealdor Times. He loosely recognizes the name as a village on the edge of Camelot, close to the border with Mercia. It rings the faintest of bells in his head, but Arthur doesn’t have the time to place it.

The headline reads: _FOURTH HATE CRIME IN TWO WEEKS – SUSPECTS IN CUSTODY CLAIM THERE’S MORE TO COME._

Arthur reads the article carefully. The attack isn’t unlike others he’s heard of in the outer edges of Camelot. The ones in Camelot City proper aren’t nearly this violent or frequent, but if the archives are anything to go by, Ealdor and places like it weren’t either until a few months ago. It _has_ been a busier week than usual, and Leon sending this article to him surely means he’s not the only one noticing it.

His eyes rest on the picture of the crime scene – blood on the ground in a dark alley, clear marks of Enforcement stun guns on the walls and the remnants of a flare. Arthur looks up from the screen and glances at his badge sitting on the desk. He’s had to use his own stun gun far too many times in the last several months. It’s a constant reminder of what Arthur ultimately wants to do in his position as an Enforcement officer – make Camelot fair and just for everyone, including the persecuted magical population – but Arthur knows it’ll take small steps.

For now, though, he needs to worry about what the witness in the most recent Ealdor incident said regarding the assailants.

“Nothing,” Arthur marvels as he reads. “He saw them, but there wasn’t a damn identifying factor.”

A knock comes at the door.

_“All I know is they heard the two Druid members talking about… something sensitive, apparently, and they saw them light their cigarettes with magic. They attacked, nearly killed them both, asking about what they were saying, but I don’t think the Druids said a word.”_

Arthur stares at the page. Somewhere in the article, he catches the word _Priestesses_. Arthur’s breath catches. Apparently, the witness, after some coaxing, admitted the two Druid members mentioned the Priestesses, though he didn’t catch the context of it.

_“Does it matter? The only thing those bastards needed was one damn word as a cue to start murdering them. I know what’s happened around here; sometimes it takes even less.”_

The door opens.

“What?” he snaps.

“You’re late for your meeting with your father in the council room,” says George, his PA. Arthur deflates and nods. He hates having the man around – he jokes about _staplers_ , for god’s sake – but being the son of the King with a day job means he needs some help managing his non-work-related affairs.

“Right. I’m on my way.”

Arthur grabs his badge and the rest of the things he’ll need when he reports to work after the meeting. The halls are silent and empty, as usual, as he makes his way to the council room. It’s just as empty as the halls but for Uther sitting at the lowest row of tables, clicking away at his phone.

“Father,” he says. Uther turns and looks up at him as he descends the steps.

“Good of you to join me,” Uther says curtly, “eventually.”

Arthur takes his place next to Uther and turns the spinning chair toward him.

“What’s this about?”

“I have a job for you, and I believe if you succeed you’ll be pleased with the rewards,” Uther says. “Morgana has asked, yet again, to open up the DeBois Repertory. I’ve let her have it.”

“Right. So? She’s always loved theater.”

“The building was shut down and locked permanently after the Great Purge,” says Uther. “It was one of the suspected locations with a passage to the Underground.”

“Ah.”

“If I’m correct about where Morgana’s loyalties currently lie,” Uther says, his face pinching as though it hurts to speak, “then that’s what she’s looking for in opening the Repertory. It is, if I’m not mistaken, the supposed entrance to the Gatehouse of the Underground, and to the Dragon’s Cave.”

Arthur’s heart is pounding.

“Are you certain?”

“Fairly certain, though since we had no sorcery to aid us when we sealed and fortified the passages, we couldn’t access anything beyond a certain point beneath the building,” says Uther. “But that was our best bet for those two particular structures.”

“And the dragon?”

“It may still be down there,” Uther says, lip curling, “but no dragonlords live. If Morgana and her companions get that far, they won’t be able to control it, and the monster will do them no good.”

Arthur says nothing for a while. His heart feels hollow as it beats in his chest.

“I hoped… I wanted us to be wrong about Morgana,” says Arthur rather lamely.

“As did I, but she’s no longer my daughter, nor is she your sister. The day she chose _them_ over us was the day she relinquished these titles.”

He turns to face Arthur, his body made of tense lines.

“My task for you is to keep close to her. Audition for her musical. Give her no reason to suspect you,” Uther says. “I want you to keep tabs on who she casts in this production and see if they match our list of suspected Druid members. Investigate them. You know the drill, Arthur.”

“You want me to go undercover… in her musical?” Arthur says disbelievingly.

“Yes. I have enough evidence to suspect that Morgana’s connections are to the insurgents we’ve been trying to stop for months now,” says Uther. “You find their nest through her, you take them down, and you’ll have earned the top post in Magical Enforcement.”

Arthur freezes.

“You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke about matters this serious.”

“That’s—”

“You’ve nearly earned it, Arthur. Put an end, once and for all, to this liberation nonsense, and you will have the authority to make their lives as easy or difficult as you wish.”

“The current Commissioner doesn’t have that kind of power.”

“I’ll sign it over to you, if you do this,” says Uther lightly. He turns his piercing gaze on Arthur momentarily. “I trust your judgments. You are my son, after all.”

Arthur swallows dryly. Uther takes his pen and signs his name on a page with a tight flourish.

“Do we understand each other, then?”

“What about the Priestesses? Am I still searching for them with the rest of my team?”

“I think if you can find the nest, the Priestesses’ network will come crashing down, and we’ll find them in the rubble easily,” Uther says. He meets Arthur’s eye. “I know you’ll make me proud, Arthur.”

“Yes, sir,” Arthur says. He starts to smile. “I won’t let you down, father. I swear it. I’m going to put an end to the madness.”

“See that you do.”

Arthur leaves the hall just as the doors open and the council members file down the steps. His heart is pounding, but he doesn’t let himself react to the news until he’s safe in his office at the Enforcement Building. Leon gives him a curious look as he shuts the door and locks it. Arthur heaves a deep breath and collapses in his desk chair. He pushes all thoughts of Morgana – which induce a dull ache in his head and the sensation of a hand gripping his internal organs – out; now isn’t the time to think about what this really means for her.

The most important piece of information gathered in this meeting is that Arthur’s goal is finally within reach.

It’s an old petition of Arthur’s, to be able to change the laws on the rights of magical citizens of Camelot. He’s a lawyer, so he knows how to fight this battle fairly, only Uther isn’t one to return the favor, not when magic’s involved. He has been telling Arthur for years he would have to earn a government position that would allow him such power. Finally – _finally_ – that day has come and he has a concrete path to what Arthur truly wants for Camelot: peace. Arthur isn’t about to let the opportunity go to waste. No. He’s going to kill two birds with one stone, and he’ll make Camelot a better place for it.


	2. Dear Ol' Shiz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Dear Ol' Shiz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ulyp_Jl6HmU)

**Merlin**

 

Merlin climbs into the nearest cargo car of the train, gripping the rusty iron handle as he swings himself up. He looks back out at the station. No one is there to see him off. They said their goodbyes at the house and decided that it’d draw attention it they all went to meet the train. Merlin can’t help but feel a little sad at that, but he understands. He’s almost glad he doesn’t have anything to look back upon as the train pulls out; it makes for a cleaner cut, and an easier start to a new part of his life.

But that doesn’t stop him from looking anyway and seeing Will in the nearest field, jumping up and down and waving like a raving madman.

Merlin, grinning, waves back before turning to face the front of the train, away from the glare of the rising sun. The air is cool, coming in through the half-open door of the car, and it keeps him awake for a short while. Only when the train skids to a stop does Merlin jerk back to consciousness and look outside.

There’s a field on one side with small buildings peppering the landscape, and on the side of the platform there’s a maze of tall industrial structures extending as far as Merlin can see. He slings his bag over his shoulder and hops out of the train onto the platform. Down the line workers are unloading crates of produce. Merlin climbs off the platform and walks until he reaches the street – it’s black pavement, and it’s fresh. He hasn’t seen such a pristine street in years. Merlin walks down the nearest street away from the construction sites to the first large thoroughfare he comes across. It’s wide and lined with yellow paths on either side.

Merlin pauses to read a sign and a map on the side of the empty road, apparently called the Camelot Ring Road. The map shows all of Camelot City – the Citadel in the center, surrounded by the five quarters: DeBois, Darkling, Gorlois, Balor, and Meredor. Merlin vaguely remembers the history of naming of the five neighborhoods around the Citadel; two are family names significant to the Pendragons, for sure, and the others are related to historical names for the geography of the land.

He’s on the farthest edge of the Darkling Quarter, which starts just inside of the Camelot Ring Road, and he needs to get to Gaius, who lives in a state-owned apartment in the heart of the Citadel. Merlin sighs. He’s glad it’s still early; it’s going to be a long walk, and the last thing he wants is to show up drenched in sweat under the midday sun. Merlin adjusts his grip on his bag and starts walking into the city.

\---

The Citadel is tall, massive, and _white_. Back in Ealdor, the buildings are shabby, and some of the really bad ones fall apart with a particularly strong gust during summer storms. Merlin gazes up at the white stone walls of the Citadel’s gates as he walks through them, not caring that people passing by are laughing behind their hands. The roads are clean and wide with smooth corners; sidewalks line the countless storefronts, some bustling with average people, others housing stiff, beautiful clothing clearly meant for the upper echelons of Camelot’s society. Merlin marvels at it all.

He grips the paper with the directions to Gaius’s apartment tightly. Merlin climbs a set of stairs ascending from a sidewalk to an overpass. Inside the building on the level above the street, the air is pleasantly cool and fresh. Merlin breathes deeply and looks out at Camelot through the glass walls. Someone bumps into him and Merlin startles. He hurries out of the overpass into the darker hallways inside the building.

After some aimless wandering and a few wrong turns, Merlin asks a pair of guards, who point him in the right direction. He climbs a spiral staircase that opens onto a platform with a single door. Merlin knocks and the door opens.

“Hello?”

Merlin pokes his head in. An older man is sitting by the window with an old tome on his lap. His head bobs, and Merlin realizes he’s nodded off. Merlin walks in, the noise of his shoes softened by the beautiful blue carpet, and shakes the man’s shoulder gently.

“What? Who are you?”

“I’m Merlin,” he says, offering a hand. Gaius smiles faintly.

“Ah. Hunith’s boy. I didn’t realize you’d come so soon,” says Gaius. “The walk from the train is a long one.”

“I walked quickly. I wanted to beat the heat.”

“Good thinking,” says Gaius. He gets up and moves to the kitchen. “I’m afraid I can’t do much for you, Merlin. I can offer you my couch until you find permanent lodgings, and I can help with your… Hunith mentioned a problem with the magic, yes?”

Merlin nods. He puts his bag down and helps Gaius set out the tea on the glass table in the sitting room.

“We’ll talk about all that later, then. I’ve found a job for you. It’s the farthest thing from glamorous, but it’s low-key. You’ll stay out of the way at the factory, so if you have any problems with your magic, there’ll be a very slim chance of someone who would react poorly seeing you,” Gaius explains. He offers Merlin a plate of slightly burnt wafers. “Biscuit?”

“Factory?” Merlin repeats.

“It’s a textile factory. You needn’t worry,” Gaius says lightly, but Merlin doesn’t quite believe him. “It’s all I could find on such short notice.”

“You’re a physician. Can’t I apprentice with you?”

“Your degree is in Literature, yes? No, that won’t do, not so easily,” Gaius says sadly. “I’ll need to speak to Uther and put in a proper petition for hiring help. Would you want that?”

“Yes, sir. I’m grateful for the factory job, though. I’ll make the most of it for as long as I need to,” Merlin says hastily. Gaius chuckles.

“I know, my boy. Drink up. Your tea’s getting cold.”

Merlin tries to drink as quietly as possible. Gaius has a hard time hiding his smile.

“So. Tell me about your problem.”

Before Merlin can start, the door to his apartment bangs open and the most beautiful woman Merlin has possibly ever seen stalks across the blue carpet in tall black heels, her long black hair whipping behind her like a cloak.

“Gaius,” she starts, before stopping short. “You have company. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s no problem, my lady,” Gaius says, standing. “What can I do for you today?”

“Headaches again.”

“I’ll fetch your medicine.”

Gaius leaves the room. The woman stands by Merlin’s chair with her arms crossed, towering over him. Merlin takes a sip of his tea and slurps a little too loudly. She smirks at him.

“Are you a friend of Gaius’s?”

“He’s my uncle,” Merlin says.

“I didn’t know he had any family in Camelot.”

“He doesn’t. I’ve only just arrived here,” Merlin says, quickly adding, “erm, my lady?”

She laughs.

“No need for that. What’s your name?”

“Merlin.”

“Morgana,” she says, taking his hand and shaking vigorously. “Are you staying long in Camelot?”

“Probably,” Merlin shrugs.

“Well, let me know if you need anyone to show you around. I’d hate to see a lamb like you get lost in the big, bad city,” Morgana says with another smirk. Nonetheless, she hands Merlin a crisp business card with a number hand-written on the back. Merlin gapes at her.

“I’m not a lamb!” he sputters after a long delay. Morgana doesn’t stop laughing until Gaius returns with a bottle of blue liquid. She thanks him and leaves still laughing.

“What on earth did you do?” Gaius says, clearly perplexed.

“Nothing! She called me a lamb and gave me her number,” Merlin states, staring at the card balanced on his knee. Gaius sighs loudly. “What?”

“That was Morgana Pendragon, daughter of _Uther_. Ring any bells?” Gaius says pointedly. Merlin’s jaw drops. “Yes, I thought so.”

“Why the hell would she offer to show me around?”

Gaius looks about uncomfortably before saying, “Morgana has a tendency to… collect favors, if you will.”

“So if she helped me out, she’d ask something in return,” Merlin says.

“Precisely, only you wouldn’t know what or when until she asks.”

“She’s… terrifying,” Merlin admits. Gaius laughs.

“Then you’ve got the right impression of her. All Pendragons are intimidating, I’m afraid, though Arthur is less so than his father and sister,” Gaius says.

“Will he be stomping in here, too?”

“Probably not,” he replies with a reproachful look. “Arthur keeps to himself. He has a job away from Uther’s courts and politics. He doesn’t even live in the palace, so I rarely see him nowadays.”

“Ah. Well, that’s good for him,” Merlin mumbles. He stuffs a biscuit in his mouth and chokes it down.

“Now, let’s discuss the magic,” Gaius says. Merlin quickly explains the basics – how he never came into it around fifteen, the flares and the dizzying lack of control, the frequency of incidents – and Gaius takes it all in with a clinical look on his face.

“But were you never taught magic in school?”

“We don’t have any magic schools near Ealdor. I’ve heard they exist out here, though,” Merlin says. He looks away. “It wouldn’t be safe to openly show you have magic there, so there’s no point in having a school no one would attend.”

“Ah, yes. I’ve read about the attacks,” Gaius says softly.

“I’m a danger to my family,” Merlin says, hearing for the first time bitterness he’d tried so hard to keep deep inside him. “That’s the only reason I left them. I’m a walking target, and it’s only getting more obvious.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gaius says. He goes over to the bookshelves and starts searching. “What are you able to do with your magic, when it’s in control?”

“I try not to use it unless I need it,” Merlin explains, “but I just… do stuff? It’s hard – I just _want_ something to happen, and then it happens. It’s a reflex.”

Something hurls across the room at Merlin. It stops midair before Merlin can even flinch. Gaius looks both shocked and impressed. The book hovering in front of Merlin’s face drops.

“Just testing,” Gaius says apologetically.

“Right….”

“You use no spells? No incantations?”

“No. We never – my father never let me have magic books,” Merlin says. “He said it was too dangerous. If we were ever under suspicion, the books would—”

“They’d damn you even further,” Gaius nods. “Your father is right. Merlin… if I may offer a piece of advice to you? Keep your magic a secret in Camelot as well. People are overall more accepting here, but the hatred exists. Crimes like the ones in Ealdor happen here, too. Keep it a secret, and keep your family a secret as well.”

“For their protection,” Merlin says dully. “I know. My father told me this morning.”

“Now, don’t sulk! You’re no child, Merlin. You’re young man with a bright future ahead of you,” Gaius says warmly, dragging him out of the chair. “Things will never be easy for you, but you must make the most of it.”

“I know,” Merlin says. “I will.”

“Go on and get a feel for the Citadel. I’ll have dinner ready for you when you return, and tomorrow morning I’ll show you how to get to the factory,” Gaius says.

“Do you have work to do now?”

“Oh, I believe I do,” Gaius says, patting the bookshelves fondly. “Now, go. It’s a beautiful day.”

“Want me to pick anything up for you?”

“Perhaps… yes. Come. I’ll fetch my list and a map for you.”

Merlin grins and eagerly follows Gaius.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

The next morning, she finds Morgause waiting by the entrance to the DeBois Repertory with Mordred and Kara sitting on the steps. The red awning extending over the sidewalk is faded and has numerous holes; pieces flap in the gentle June breeze. Morgana parks the cark on the street and joins them, leaving her heels behind in favor of flats.

“It’s a dump, Morgana,” Morgause says the moment she’s within earshot. They descend the steps to the entrance under the awning.

“It’s been closed for twenty-five years, and in disrepair for a little longer. It’s not going to be the Lothian,” Morgana scowls. She produces the key from her purse and shoulders the heavy black door open. The air that pours out is stale and dusty, but with a wave of Morgause’s hand, there’s not a trace of dirt or grime inside the Repertory. Mordred lights the lamps on the walls as they pass an old box office, the till inside hanging open.

“What happened here?” Kara says, disgust plain in her voice.

“Uther,” Morgana says, matching Kara’s tone. “Ygraine DeBois once performed here. I hear she even owned the place for a while. After she died, Uther let others keep it running, but during the Purge, when he heard that people with magic were using this place as a safe house, he tore it apart, right in the middle of a show they were putting on for themselves.”

They open the doors to the performance hall. The space is large, full of rich red seats and gold-gilded metalwork framing the stage. The curtain is half-drawn with a jagged tear on the right side.

“Let’s get to work,” Morgana says.

\---

Most of the day passes before they decide they’ve fixed up the theater enough to be presentable. But when they’re done, Morgana’s damn sure it’s as close to its former glory as they can get the empty theater. The true test will be when they get a cast of performers, but that won’t be for a while.

Morgana wanders to her purse and pulls out the script for _Wicked_. Morgause, sitting on the stage, smirks.

“You’re quite excited, aren’t you?” she says.

“I love this.”

“I know, sister. You must stay focused on the real task at hand,” Morgause says. Morgana looks up from the script.

“I know,” she says stiffly. “We need to wait until sundown to start the search. I want to run through a song to get a feel for the acoustics.”

“Ah. So that’s why we’re all here, then? We cover most of the vocal parts in the chorus,” Mordred says, walking over, Kara close behind. “What’ll it be?”

“ _Dear Old Shiz_ ,” Morgana says, naming the song on the page she picked at random.

Morgana hands each of them a copy of the music. Morgause won’t wipe the smile off her face, but she accepts the sheets willingly and, as their resident musician with perfect pitch, she gives them the first note.

“Mordred?”

“Yeah, I know which parts to take,” he says with an eye-roll. Morgana smiles fondly. He’s hardly more than a boy, but Morgana’s friendship with him is one she knows will be the most valuable.

“I’ll take Galinda’s high notes, then,” Morgana says. Morgause, still smirking, nods and gives them the note a second time.

 

_“_ _O hallowed halls and vine-draped walls_

_The proudliest sight there is._

_When grey and sere our hair hath turned_

_We shall still revere the lessons learned_

_In our days at dear old Shiz_

_Our days at dear old – Shiz.”_

 

Morgana, eyes shut, can feel the air vibrate with the sounds of their voices. The harmony isn’t quite perfect – they need lower voices than Mordred’s to get the complete sound – but the whole hall comes _alive_. Morgana grins.

The door at the back opens and light streams around a woman’s silhouette, her head framed with curly hair. Morgana makes it halfway up the aisle before letting out a gleeful sound.

“Gwen!” she all but shouts. Gwen hurries down the aisle and hugs Morgana tightly.

“Morgana,” she says, muffled by Morgana’s hair. “God, what are you doing here? This place has been shut down for ages!”

“It’s a long story,” Morgana says. “Do you live around here?”

Gwen nods and points upward. “My flat is a few floors up. I heard singing on the way in and was terribly confused, since the place is condemned, but then I saw you and—”

“Gwen, breathe. It’s okay,” Morgana says with a light laugh. “Join us for dinner.”

“I can’t. I’m meeting my boyfriend tonight.”

“Ah. Well, then, we’ll have to make plans, then,” Morgana says, producing a card with her number on it and handing it to Gwen. “I’ll be around here for a while now.”

“I see,” she says. “I’m glad you’re getting back to this. You always loved the theater.”

“Uther caved,” she says dismissively. “I’ll tell you over dinner sometime. Are you still a seamstress?”

“On the side. I’ve taken over my father’s shop in town,” says Gwen. “He passed a year ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Morgana says. She truly is; Gwen’s father was always so kind to her when they were growing up together. Morgana’s best childhood memories are of afternoons in the Smith household cooking with Gwen and her father.

“Why do you ask?” Gwen asks, shaking Morgana out of her memories.

“I was hoping to enlist you for my army,” she says, starting to smile again. “We’re in desperate need of a stage manager, a costume designer, set designer – everything. Performers are rather useless outside of music and dancing. I’d pay you, if you want.”

“Oh! Morgana, you don’t need to – no, I’d love to help,” Gwen beams. “I’ve missed this.”

“Me, too. I know we’re not at uni anymore, but this is something different,” Morgana says. She pauses. “I’ve missed you, Gwen.”

Gwen blushes prettily and Morgana looks away.

“I should go. Need to make food. Lance is rather hopeless at cooking,” Gwen says, tripping over her words in typical Gwen fashion. It puts a smile on Morgana’s face. “I’ll ring you tomorrow about all this. You’re directing, I assume?”

“Of course,” Morgana says in as authoritative a tone she can manage with Gwen. It’s suddenly much harder to put on the persona she wears with Morgause with her old friend standing before her. It’s like traveling back several years to a much simpler time.

“Good luck. You’ve done a great job with… everything so far,” Gwen says, waving at the lack of cobwebs and the shining armrests. “See you soon, Morgana.”

She hurries out the door and closes it behind her, shutting out the summer warmth.

“An acquaintance?” Kara asks from behind her. Morgana spins around.

“We grew up together. I haven’t seen her since uni ended,” she replies as she walks briskly back to the stage. “Mordred, Kara, go get us some food. Morgause and I are going to start searching.”

Morgause gives Morgana’s forearm a supportive squeeze as Mordred and Kara scurry away. Morgana puts the script aside and lets her magic loose.

By the time they return with two pizza pies, Morgause and Morgana are on the stage, exhausted.

“Nothing. I can’t feel a damn thing,” Morgause yells. “Why is that?”

Mordred shuts his eyes, only to open them almost immediately.

“There aren’t just physical walls put up by Uther’s men. There are layers and layers of wards. It’s very strong magic,” he explains. “I felt it the moment we walked in here.”

“You’re not a Hypersensitive for nothing,” Kara snorts. She opens the first pizza box and takes a slice. She sits cross-legged on the stage and takes a bite. “I felt it, too, though.”

“You’re true druids. We don’t have the luxury of exercising our skills as you do,” Morgause scowls.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Morgana says, still a little out of breath. “Can you feel anything beyond the wards?”

Mordred shakes his head.

“The walls are too thick. We’ll need a lot of help to get through them, and it’ll take time. They only get more powerful the deeper we go, and they’re behind the physical walls,” Mordred says. He trails his fingers along the edge of the stage. “Someone other than Uther didn’t want us getting to the Underground’s Gatehouse.”

Morgana takes a slice of pizza and picks off the vegetables.

“I’ll get the power we need. I can call in a few favors.”

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

She shuts the door behind her and presses her back against it. The surface is cool and pleasant; her skin feels feverish, and not just because of the oppressive heat outside. Gwen’s heart slows from a steady pound to something normal. She sighs, locks the door, and walks deeper into her apartment, throwing windows open as she goes. She turns on the fan in the kitchen and puts away the groceries. Her hands move, but her mind is far away.

 _Morgana Pendragon_ , she thinks. Gwen starts cooking dinner to bring to Lance’s apartment.

“Morgana,” she murmurs.

She seemed well, better than when they’d parted ways. Gwen wonders what Lance will say when she tells him over dinner later. She’d long stopped thinking about Morgana, even in the quiet hours at work with nothing else to consider but dead memories, but seeing her today woke something curious in her. It definitely isn’t what she once felt for Morgana, but it’s more than nothing.

Gwen turns her focus to cooking a quick lunch and dinner for later and she sets Morgana aside in her mind. When the food is done and packed up to bring to the Darkling quarter, she pours the last of the tea she brewed earlier that morning and takes it out onto the balcony overlooking the street. She’s high enough up that she can see over the tops of the lower buildings across the street and beyond. She can even see the tops of the trees of the forest on the other side of the Ring Road. Gwen runs her thumb along the chipped rim of her teacup and blows on the hot liquid.

“Gwennie, love,” comes a voice to her right. Gwen looks over as her neighbor in the next building, Hilda, pulls a chair across her balcony with an almighty scrape. She settles on the end closest to Gwen, close enough to reach out and offer sugar for her tea.

“Hi Hilda,” Gwen smiles. “How’ve you been?”

“All right, you know the old hip.”

Gwen nods sagely, as if she does know Hilda’s hip personally.

“I was just listening to the radio, catching up on what those bleeding royals are up to. You know I love Lola Keerie’s show,” she says. Gwen nods again. “King Uther can’t be happy with that girl of his. She’s a wild one.”

“Morgana?” Gwen asks. Her heart jumps again.

“Has he got another?” she snorts. “Yeah, that one. Keerie’s saying she and Morgause Orcades—y’know, that woman she’s been with—they’ve been making a right fool of the King and his generosity, drinking and gambling and—”

“Oh,” Gwen says. She looks down at her tea. It’s gone cold in her hands. “Right.”

She’d momentarily forgotten about Morgana’s hard partying reputation she’d built in the years since they’d parted.

“Keerie says that Morgause Orcades is friendly with the Druid group,” Hilda goes on. She mops the sweat off her brow with the corner of her thin shawl. “King can’t like his girl hanging about that sort of filth.”

“What?” Gwen stutters.

“Don’t you think so?” Hilda asks. “Orcades might even be one of them! At least, that’s what _The Camelot Sun_ says. One of them photographers saw Orcades coming with some Druids at Lothian.”

Hilda pauses to spit when she says _Druids_.

“Have you got a problem with magic, Hilda?” Gwen asks.

She looks at Gwen with wide, cool eyes.

“Of course. Haven’t you see what those bastards can do? They’re dangerous. They’re like untrained animals, and they can’t be trusted.”

Her words are straight out of the propaganda pamphlet she found taped to the door of her shop that morning when she opened up.

“If you ask me, they’ve got what’s comin’.”

“What’s coming?” Gwen asks, feeling dizzy and ill.

“Oh don’t sound so worried! They know how to find them. The King’s going to take good care of us, Gwennie!”

“Hilda—they’re not evil. They’re just people,” she frowns.

She shakes her head. “You’re too young to understand. You don’t remember the Great Purge like I do.”

“I know people were afraid, not just people with magic,” she protests. Hilda stands. Her cat emerges and winds around her ankle. Hilda bends to pick her up and grimaces in pain.

“The hip,” she says apologetically. She goes inside her apartment without another word, purring to the cat in her arms.

Gwen goes inside and slides the door shut. The apartment is painfully quiet without the hum of inner city traffic in the distance. Gwen starts to hum while packing up the last of her things to take to Lance’s after work. It’s not until she’s on her way out the door does she realize she’s humming that song from _Wicked_ she heard Morgana and the others singing earlier.

\---

The shop is quiet when Gwen arrives to relieve Kiera, the girl on the morning shift. She snaps to attention when Gwen walks in, hurriedly sliding her books down the counter.

“Hey, Kiera,” Gwen says, smiling. “I’ve got sweets.”

She brightens. Gwen pulls out a box of macaroons she made the night before and offers it to Kiera. She picks one, sea green, and takes a bite out of it. She giggles and relaxes.

“This is awesome,” she says.

“It’s my dad’s recipe.”

“Tell him it’s amazing.”

“Will do,” Gwen says, looking away. It was all the more reason to pay him a visit at the family plot.

“Oh, crap, I’ve got to go,” Kiera says, her huge brown eyes bugging out when she looks at her watch. “Class starts in half an hour.”

“Go on,” Gwen says, grinning. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

She waves over her shoulder as she leaves, still stuffing books into her open backpack. A hand catches the door and makes the bell ring again. Gwen looks up from settling into the counter.

“Joseph,” she says with a polite smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Just wanted to ask about the sign on your door, Gwen,” he says. He doesn’t bother with polite smiles. “The rest of us are worried about the attention it’ll attract.”

“The rest of you?” she asks incredulously.

“May, Geena, Louis,” he says. “The rest of us on the block.”

“Right, well, I’m not going to pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you want to discriminate against people with magic and say they’re not welcome in your shops, you’re free to do it. I won’t.”

“They’re bad news and bad business,” he frowns. “You know the folks Juniper got investigated by some of the King’s men last week? They’re turning down the flyers being delivered and they hosted a Druid meeting in their back room.”

“They’re a restaurant. If the Druid group makes reservations—”

“They should’ve said no. Now they’re getting shut down.”

“You can’t be serious. That’s against the law.”

“What law?” he snorts. “Look, Gwen, I get where you’re coming from. Hell, I agree with you. They’re fine people, normal people. But they’re bad news. You know they’ve got it out for them, trying to find those insurgents.”

Gwen tenses. She heard things here and there about the insurgents, apparently the masterminds behind the string of recent magical attacks and riots in Camelot.

“It’s nothing against them.”

“It is, though. You’re trying to save your own skin and they’re the ones who’ll suffer for it,” she says stubbornly.

“Gwen… be reasonable. Please. We all like you and we don’t want to see you crash and burn.”

“Look, I’m not going to be part of this. You know these blokes came in the other day and tried to beat some customers of mine, just for being part of Druid?”

Joseph pales. He runs a hand through his hair.

“You’ll lose your shop. Think of what Tom would do.”

“My father would’ve put that sign up ages ago,” Gwen says coldly. The shop door opens and a couple walks in. They look between Gwen and Joseph warily. “I’ll be right with you.”

Joseph rubs his eyes.

“We’re just trying to look out for you. We’re looking out for each other,” says Joseph, lowering his voice.

“I have customers waiting,” Gwen says firmly.

Gwen turns to the couple before he even takes a step toward the door. They’re looking for rings for a vow renewal ceremony. She listens to their story, their fifty-year marriage, and most of the agitation Joseph caused ebbs away. By the time they make their purchases and leave, Gwen has a headache and her stomach feels like it’s begun to eat itself.

The hours pass slowly. She reads the paper, cleans the shop, and helps a few more customers who wander in. She even makes a hefty sale: ceremonial daggers are oddly popular at all times of the year. At the end of the day when she locks up, she still feels a pit in her gut. Hilda left a bad taste in her mouth, and Joseph only made it worse. Gwen looks down the block. She sees at least two more red-lettered signs.

Across the street, Joseph walks out of his shop and locks the door. He sees her watching, but he ducks his head and hurries away.

 

* * *

 

 

**Merlin**

 

The factory _smells_. At least, the part of the factory where they put him smells like dead animals and dried blood. Merlin doesn’t have to look long at the stains in the corners of the room to get confirmation of his assumptions. The other workers don’t talk to him, so Merlin eats alone at lunch. The noise of the machines is terrible; his ears ring even when he goes to take a toilet break. None of this bothers Merlin, though. He avoided the factories by Ealdor, coming from a farming background, but he knew plenty in school who lived this life.

No, the worst of it is the actual job he’s given – he’s a scavenger. Merlin could have sworn technology in Camelot was too advanced for such a job to still exist, but apparently not in this particular factory. The machinery is archaic, so naturally some of the old jobs persist. The foreman took one look at Merlin upon meeting him and said, “Small and quick. Good. Just what we needed.”

Merlin didn’t get the chance to add _incomprehensibly clumsy_ to the foreman’s list. He’s thrown right into the job. He makes it all the way to four in the afternoon before nearly dying.

It’s a stupid mistake: he doesn’t move quickly enough. His sleeve gets caught on the machine, and Merlin feels like his shoulder is being torn from his socket. His hand is instantly crushed in the machinery, the ever-present din drowning out his screams. Merlin, gasping for breath, is certain he’s going to lose his arm, and no one is going to notice until they find blood on the carpet being made.

The machinery stops. His head is heavy and he can’t see a damn thing but he can feel someone prying the machinery away and curling his arm against his chest. Someone strong and warm scoops Merlin off the carpet and takes him outside. The air instantly clears his head. His savior dabs at Merlin’s arm with something that stings horribly. Merlin does his best not to flinch.

He can’t quite stop it. His magic rises, only half-unbidden, and heals his broken hand. Merlin hunches over at the effort it takes, leaning against the man’s shoulder. The man strokes Merlin’s good arm and murmurs in a soothing, low timbre.

“Sorry,” Merlin mumbles. “First day.”

“They shouldn’t have given you that job, then,” says the man. He sounds furious. Merlin pulls away. “Wait, stop – you’ll hurt yourself even worse.”

“I just – why are you angry?”

“Because the foreman left you to die down there?” the man says flatly. “Why else?”

“I just did magic.”

“You healed yourself,” the man corrects him. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with magic. Not by me. If you want me to keep it a secret, I can do that.”

Merlin stares stupidly at the man. He can finally see clearly. He has tanned skin and dark hair, a vaguely exotic look about him, and his smile convinces Merlin his words genuine. It stuns him.

“I’d appreciate that,” he croaks.

“It’s my pleasure then,” the man says. He hesitates.

“Thank you, for saving me,” Merlin says. “I mean it.”

“It was nothing.”

“I’m Merlin,” he says, offering his good hand.

“Lancelot, but just Lance works,” he says, grinning again. “Are you new to Camelot?”

“How did you know?” he asks.

“There’s something very… green about you,” Lance smiles. “But you’re clearly a man with a mission, and you’ve got enough magic to heal a broken hand in seconds, so I presume you’re not so green after all.”

“All true,” Merlin laughs. “I just moved here yesterday. I’m staying with my uncle in the Citadel until I find a place to live. Do you know any available flats near the factory?”

“Oh, god, you don’t want those flats. They’re just as disgusting and unsanitary as this place,” Lance says, wrinkling his nose. “Come over to my flat for dinner. My girlfriend is an excellent cook. I’ll show you around my neighborhood. It’s a close walk, but just far enough that you can leave this wretched place behind every day.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Merlin starts, but Lance silences him with a raised hand.

“That’s settled, then,” he says. The bell rings inside the factory, echoing into the courtyard through the broken windows on the upper floor. “Come on. We need more first aid and some water for the rest of these cuts anyway.”

Lance leads him back into the building, carefully avoiding where the majority of the other workers tread. They get their things from the locker room and hurry out, beating most of the crowd.

As they walk, Lance says, “You didn’t think I’d accept your magic.”

“People generally don’t,” Merlin says.

“Does your uncle know?”

Merlin nods. “It’s… a long story, but he’s helping me with it. My magic. It’s a bit… messed up,” he says, waving his hands. “You can’t tell anyone that either.”

“Got it,” Lance says with complete seriousness. “Your secret is safe with me.”

They walk in silence for a little while longer. The streets widen and the buildings become much nicer.

“I can’t afford this,” Merlin says, shaking his head at Lance’s apartment building as he unlocks the door. “Nothing this nice.”

“Then… I have an extra room. You can stay with me. Pay rent when you have enough money, but you don’t need to worry about it until then,” Lance says.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Lance says. He hangs his coat up on a rack by the door. “I’m in desperate need of some company around here.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

“Gwen lives in the DeBois Quarter closer to the Citadel. Her shop is there, and she likes to stay close,” Lance says. “We manage just fine like this.”

Lance waves him over to the kitchen. Merlin sits at the table while Lancelot finds a First Aid kit.

“Are you feeling all right?” Lance asks after cleaning most of the wounds.

“Sure,” he says hastily.

“You’re a bit quiet, is all.”

“Just considering the offer,” says Merlin. Lance gives him a look. “I’m just a bit shocked at your… hospitality. You don’t know a thing about me.”

“It’s what any decent person would do,” Lance says. “I’ve been meaning to search for a flatmate for ages. It’s convenient for me, too.”

“I haven’t met a whole lot of decent people, then,” Merlin says. Lance looks at him a little sadly.

“If you stay here, I do hope you’ll tell me your story. It might not hurt to confide in someone else, other than your uncle,” Lance says gently.

Merlin’s chest tightens.

“I think I’d like that a lot. Thank you.”

A key turns in the door. Merlin looks over in time to see a blur of curly hair, yellow fabric, and Tupperware fly into the kitchen.

“You’ll _never_ guess who I ran into today,” the woman gushes the moment she pulls out of Lance’s embrace.

“Before you start, this is Merlin,” Lance says, nodding at the table. Merlin waves awkwardly. He expects Gwen to look annoyed at least, but she starts to smile hugely and fuss over the wounds on his arm.

“Factory accident. First day. They made him a scavenger,” Lance explains as he sets the table. Merlin gets up quickly and looks around for the silverware. Gwen opens the correct drawer for him.

“Lance saved me from certain death,” Merlin supplies.

“Did he? Well, he’s quite fond of that,” Gwen says, looking at Lance with an utterly besotted smile. Lance returns it. They’re just shy of sickening.

“Merlin might take the extra room here,” Lance continues.

“Oh, that’s good! Lance gets up to no good when I’m not around. All he does is read and go to the gym,” Gwen teases. Lance prods her side, eliciting a giggle. “I hope you take it, Merlin.”

“I think I will,” Merlin says before he can stop himself. It’s the truth, in the end.

“Great!” Lance says warmly, his face lighting up.

“Who did you run into, Gwen?” Merlin says, eager to redirect the topic.

“An old friend. Well, more than friend. We grew up together,” Gwen explains. “We were like sisters for a while, then we dated a bit at uni, and then went back to being friends. Sort of. We… fell out at the end.”

“Morgana?” Lance gapes. Merlin looks up from where he’s folding a napkin. Gwen nods.

“She was at the Repertory with a few others,” Gwen says. She pauses to pry open a huge bowl of pasta. Merlin’s mouth waters. “Uther’s let her open it up for some reason.”

“You spoke to her, then?” asks Lance.

“I wasn’t sure at first if I should, but I did,” she says. “She wants me to help her out with a production she’s putting on. It’s nothing professional, but I’ve been looking for a project—”

“Gwen, no. This isn’t going to go well,” Lance interrupts. “Morgana treated you like shit last time you saw each other.”

“You know whose fault that was.”

“No one forces Morgana Pendragon to do anything,” Lance snorts. Merlin laughs.

“Sorry. I met her yesterday at the palace,” he says. “What did she do to you?”

Lance opens his mouth to speak, but Gwen silences him with a look.

“We fell out. She and I grew apart at uni, and it took us until the end to realize we’d become very different people,” Gwen says. “It doesn’t matter what precisely happened. I want to try and make things right.”

Lance’s face says he clearly doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he keeps quiet on the matter. Merlin just keeps eating his dinner and lets them silently argue. Eventually Lance gives in and starts eating. Gwen, triumphant, pours out some wine for them.

“So, Merlin. It’s time I give you the _are-you-going-to-survive-being-Lance’s-flatmate_ test,” Gwen says, turning her bright smile on Merlin like a prison spotlight.

“Oh, god.”

“Good luck,” Lance says solemnly.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

Arthur waits over an hour after Morgana returns to go to Morgana’s rooms and speak to her. She looks exhausted when she opens the door.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Morgana frowns.

“I’m on-call tonight,” says Arthur. “May I come in?” he drawls. Morgana rolls her eyes and lets him in. Morgana crawls onto her bed, leaving the couch to Arthur. He sees the _Wicked_ script on the coffee table.

“Father told me about this,” Arthur says, picking up the script.

“Did he, now?”

“If you’d come to dinner, you’d know,” Arthur mutters. “Have you gone to the theater?”

“Spent the day there. It’s looking good,” she replies. Some of the tension eases out of her voice.

“I’ve seen pictures of the place. It’s beautiful,” says Arthur.

“Great acoustics, too.”

“Will you be holding auditions? Or are you just recruiting your friends?” Arthur asks.

“Why?” she asks suspiciously.

“Well… you know I can sing, and it’s been a long time but I was hoping—”

“You want to be in my musical?” Morgana asks. She lets out a tiny laugh. “Really? Why on earth would I let you do that?”

“Why not? You said it yourself, I have one of the best—”

“You’re doing a piss poor job of charming me, dear brother,” Morgana says. Arthur groans.

“Fine. I want to do it. I miss it, all right? Why not let me try at least? If I’m not the best man for a part in the show, then so be it,” Arthur says. “All I’m asking is permission to try.”

“Why are you even asking? Why not just show up like a normal person?”

“You’d hate me for it, and I wanted to be sure you were okay with it. We hardly see each other anymore,” Arthur adds. Morgana shakes her head.

“I always knew you were a sentimental softie.”

“Says the woman who chose _Wicked_ for her pet musical.”

Morgana pauses. “Fair point. It’s a masterpiece, though.”

“That it is.”

“I’m considering gender-blind casting,” Morgana says. “It’s going to be a small affair anyway, and I doubt I’ll find enough people with perfect voices for these parts.”

“Why does it matter? No one will see it.”

Morgana glares at him. Arthur winces.

“It’s a _masterpiece_. I’m not going to besmirch its name with shitty performers and singers,” Morgana says shrilly. She gets up off the bed and rifles through her purse. She pulls out a flyer and hands it to Arthur. “If you’re serious, these are the audition dates.”

“Are you really okay with this?”

“Not particularly. I can’t know Uther hasn’t just sent you to spy on me and make sure I’m not just getting drunk in his wife’s precious theater,” Morgana sneers, “but I’ll give you a chance, if you’re as good as you were in _Les Mis._ ”

“That was ages ago, Morgana. You can’t expect—”

“Oh, I expect it,” she says sweetly.

Arthur’s heart is already pounding nervously when his phone goes off. He jumps and, ignoring Morgana’s snickering, answers.

“Pendragon.”

“We’ve got a huge spike of magical activity in the Darkling Quarter,” says Leon. He sounds vaguely out of breath. “We don’t know what’s caused it, but we’ve got report of structural damage on site.”

“No casualties?”

“No, but there’s some rioting in the street. Whatever caused it started a scare,” says Leon. Arthur hears him rip open the Velcro on a magic-resistant vest. Apparently, it’s that bad.

“Shit. I’ll be right down.”

Arthur hangs up.

“Riots?” Morgana asks.

“Can’t answer that,” he says gruffly.

“I heard Leon through the phone,” she says.

“Fine. Yes, riots. Darkling Quarter,” Arthur replies. “Third one out there this month.”

Morgana’s lips purse tightly.

“Ever wonder why they’re acting up?” she asks in a rough voice.

“Because people like me are hurting people like you. I know. They’ve got every reason to be mad, but no reason to resort to violence like this,” says Arthur, pulling his arms through his jacket.

“It’s a way of venting frustration with the status quo. People like me have no pull, no power in Uther’s government to make things change,” Morgana says, stalking up to him so ferociously that Arthur backs up against the door. “Or have you forgotten that?”

Arthur gently pushes her away.

“I haven’t. I’m going to change that.”

“You spoke the same words years ago, Arthur,” Morgana starts.

“I know,” he says holding up a hand, “and I’m close to getting the chance to do so. Just… trust me. I will do right by you and your people. I will ensure it, but you have to trust me.”

Morgana shoves the flyer against his chest and wrenches the door open. She stalks into the hall and out of sight. Arthur, clinging to the flyer, runs down the stairs and into the courtyard. He looks back and thinks he sees Morgana’s angry face in a window, but it’s too dark to tell.

He jogs to the station down the road where Leon and the rest of his team are suited up and waiting for him. Arthur gets his gear on, pulling the plastic visor over his face, checking that his stun gun is fully loaded. They pile into the van and Leon drives them onto the road. They take a shortcut through the old Fallen Kings back roads as Percival explains at light speed what they know of the situation.

“We got a report of highly visible magical activity on Oaken Road at 2000 hours,” he says. “At 2015, we received calls of people in the streets engaged in physical fights. Five minutes later, people were calling in about magic being used in the fights. Reports of light structural damage to surrounding buildings indicate that the magic being used isn’t lethal but strong enough to leave a mark.”

“What about the first report? That must’ve been something huge to attract so much attention,” Arthur asks.

“Haven’t heard anything about it.”

“We’ll find a witness when we get this under control,” Arthur says firmly. He can hear the shouting as they pull onto the streets. There’s a falter in the rhythm of the riot outside when their van stops, the side emblazoned with _Magical Enforcement_ and the King’s seal.

They get into formation. They go right into the mess and cut through the middle of the street, splitting the riot in two. From what Arthur can tell, there’s a mix of magical and non-magical citizens on the street, and the riot is a result of assaults from both sides. He grips the stun gun tightly, but he doesn’t end up needing to use it. It’s utter chaos, and he can’t lock onto a target easily.

Something explodes and a fire comes alive on Arthur’s left. Someone cries out.

“Hold!” Arthur shouts before breaking from formation and going to the fire. He starts pulling people out of reach of the flames. Most of the bystanders are peppered with broken glass, but one man – Arthur can’t tell anything about him other than he has large ears that absolutely _glow_ in the violent firelight – is free of the debris. Arthur grabs him by the shoulders and drags him out of the street in to the alley.

“Let go!” the man shouts. His words slur. He’s clearly been hit by something.

“I’m trying to help!” Arthur says as calmly as possible.

“Well, you’re not! Let go of my arm,” the man says, breaking out of Arthur’s grasp. His arm is covered in terrible cuts and gashes, and none of them are fresh enough to be from the fire or the riot. He covers one wound that’s bleeding rather badly now.

“Stay here,” Arthur orders.

“I’m – no! I’m going home!” the man sputters, making to take off in the other direction. Arthur grabs his good arm and tries to drag him back but the man turns around quickly and swings a fist at Arthur’s face. Arthur stops him easily.

“Sorry,” he says as he twists the man’s bad arm behind his back.

“Oh, fuck, that hurts! Fine. I’ll stay. I’ll stay. I’m lost anyway,” the man whimpers. “Just let me go.”

Arthur releases him. The man sags against the brick wall of the alley and cradles his arm. Arthur hesitates, watching the man until he looks up from his arm and glares at Arthur fiercely.

“Haven’t you got a riot to stop, officer?”

Arthur turns around and runs back into the thick of it. By the time they’ve got the injured on one side of the street and the rest organized by magical status, with the Druid members in a special group as far from the non-magical people as possible, Arthur’s certain the man in the alley has left. He probably wouldn’t’ve stayed if he’d been him. The ambulances finally show up, much to Arthur’s relief. One Druid member comes forward and offers to put out the fire, which Arthur allows. He watches in wonder. When the fire is gone, he thanks the man, and then glances down the alley. The man is still there, watching from the darkness.

Arthur approaches him.

“You all right?” he asks.

“I’ve been worse, been better,” the man shrugs. “You nearly broke my arm.”

“What happened?” he asks.

“Factory accident,” the man says curtly. “Where’s thirty-eight Linden Lane?”

“Ah – oh, screw it,” Arthur mutters. He hauls the man to his feet, ignoring his squawks of protest. “I’ll walk you there. Doesn’t seem like you can tell left from right at the moment.”

“I’m fine!”

“Your nose is bleeding. You don’t look fine,” says Arthur grimly. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was taking a walk. I… felt a blast of magic down the road, and then people were everywhere, and there was fighting. It was fast,” says the man, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

“This is the third riot in this neighborhood this month,” Arthur says for the fiftieth time that night. “Try and stay inside after dark until things quiet down.”

“Yes, sir,” the man says flatly. Arthur snorts. “God, you’re such a prat.”

“You can’t address me like that,” Arthur says, though he’s still laughing for some reason.

“Why, because you’re an Enforcement official? Trust me, mate, you’re not the first I’ve met. Most of you are worse than prats,” he says with such authority it almost makes Arthur chuckle again.

“So… I should take that as a compliment?”

“For being better than average? Sure,” the man says with a derisive laugh. “Take it however you want.”

“You’re not from around here,” Arthur says. “Your accent is different.”

“I’m from Ealdor,” he says. “Just got here yesterday.”

Just as they get to the building, the door opens and – of _course_ – Gwen and her boyfriend (Vance? Lance?) hurry out and right to the man.

“Merlin! Thank god you’re all right,” Gwen says, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Ow,” the man, Merlin, says. She lets go instantly.

“Sorry.”

Then, she sees him. Her whole body stiffens.

“Arthur,” she says with a tentative smile. “It’s been… a while.”

“Yes,” he says, feeling inordinately uncomfortable all of a sudden. Her boyfriend comes up to them. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Arthur?” Merlin calls out. The sound of his name on Merlin’s slightly foreign accent sends an inexplicable shiver down Arthur’s spine in the warm June night. “Thank you.”

Arthur gives him a tight nod and flees from the street in as controlled and dignified a manner as he can manage, staunchly ignoring the burning feeling of eyes on the back of his head.


	3. The Wizard and I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Wizard and I](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZyQwjVRT5c)

**Merlin**

 

Merlin’s never had pancakes so good. _Never_. The pancakes they eat for breakfast on Saturday morning aren’t quite as good as his mum’s, since they used to get all their ingredients straight from local farms, but the syrup makes up for it above and beyond.

Merlin _moans_.

“You’re enjoying this,” Lance laughs around the food in his mouth. He takes a mouthful of milk and adds another pancake to his plate.

“God, yes,” says Merlin. He downs the whole glass of milk.

Merlin’s glad to have something to talk about other than his magic starting the riot the other night. Gwen and Lance both refused to let him go to bed until he called Gaius about what happened. The poor man had been fast asleep, and is booked solid at work until the end of next week. Lance is probably starting to realize exactly what he’s taking on by letting Merlin stay with him – Merlin said as much and offered to leave that very night, but neither Lance nor Gwen would have it.

He feels like two well-meaning but rather overprotective parents have adopted him.

“So,” Lance says, “I was thinking we could go to the _Wicked_ auditions.”

“To support Gwen?” Merlin asks. Gwen pokes her head out from the kitchen and shoots him a sunny smile. “Aww.”

“Lance wants to audition,” Gwen says with a wink as she settles at the table. Lance chokes on his food.

“I don’t,” he coughs. “I can’t sing well enough.”

“Are you afraid Morgana will turn you down?” Gwen teases, rubbing circles into his back. Lance glares at her.

“I’m not afraid of her,” he mumbles.

“Sure. What about you, Merlin? She needs as many people as she can get. It’s got to be a big cast,” Gwen says.

“I, er. Well, it’s been ages – I did theater a lot in secondary and one show at uni, but nothing big,” Merlin says, stabbing at his food. “ _The Wizard and I_ was my go-to audition song, though. _Wicked_ is my mum’s favorite musical.”

“Even though it’s technically banned?” Lance asks.

“She and my father still have a bunch of stuff from before the Purge,” Merlin says, lowering his voice involuntarily. “I grew up with a lot of these sorts of things.”

“That’s not an easy song,” Lance muses. His eyes narrow. “How much training have you got, exactly?”

“Erm. My mum was a professional opera singer in Camelot before the Purge. I got some of those genes, I suppose,” Merlin says bashfully.

“You should go for it, then!” Gwen beams.

“I don’t—”

“What have you got to lose? It’ll be fun. You’ve had a rough week,” Gwen says, as if he needs reminding, “so this might be a good way to let off some steam.”

Merlin considers it. She’s right about that at least, but there’s the risk of actually getting into the play and ending up under the eye of a Pendragon when he’s supposed to be blending in and laying low in Camelot. Lance seems to see his concern.

“Well, you’ve got all day to think about it. When are we heading out?”

“Soon,” Gwen says, pecking his cheek on her way back into the kitchen. “I’m bringing some biscuits for Morgana.”

“She’s just nervous about hanging out with Morgana again,” Lance stage-whispers.

“I heard that,” Gwen shouts. Merlin sniggers into his plate, which Gwen promptly whips out from under his nose and marches to the sink.

“What – oh, fine,” Merlin grumbles.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

She and Morgause take their seats in the orchestra seats and look at the small crowd of people. Their list of performers auditioning today is a bit longer than the one from yesterday.

“Don’t worry. Some of them are bound to be horrible,” Morgause whispers. She catches a glimpse of Gwen flitting about behind the curtain with Lance and Merlin – who stumbles and falls flat on his back on the stage. Everyone laughs. He turns bright red and disappears behind the curtain again.

“Who’s the boy again?” Morgause asks.

“Gwen’s boyfriend’s flatmate, and Gaius’s nephew,” Morgana responds. “He’s new in Camelot.”

“Are you thinking we can get his support, then?”

“I hope. He’s from Ealdor, so he’s either for us or very much against us,” she says.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What about Arthur?”

“What about him?”

“Is he here? You said he wanted to audition.”

“If the papers are anything to go by, Arthur’s too busy to be part of my little project,” Morgana says. She stands up abruptly.

“Good morning,” she says loudly. Everyone turns around to face her. “Welcome to auditions. We’ll be going alphabetically. Tell us who you are and what song you’ll be singing.”

“You’re Lady Morgana Pendragon,” one boy in the front row pipes up. Morgana sighs loudly.

“Yes, I am, and if you can’t keep your mouth shut about it you can leave now. Any takers? No? Let’s get started.”

The first is a girl, clearly still a uni student, but she’s got a good set of pipes on her. Morgana marks her down for the chorus at very least. Morgause, meanwhile, marks on their list which people are Druid members, and which ones are actual _druids_ , like Mordred and Kara.

True druids are hard to come by, but Mordred managed to find four more willing to join them– Taliesin, an older man who’ll take the role of Dr. Dillamond; Freya, a timid girl with a pleasant voice for the chorus; Sefa, bound for the chorus like Freya but with a strong enough voice to take a small solo, and, while not magical herself, her father is a powerful druid; and Aglain, a rebellious druid with whom Morgana has collaborated before.

Morgana notes, while a young man bungles his way through _Mr. Cellophane_ , more druids would be better, but thanks to Uther most have fled to the furthest corners of Camelot and beyond. Morgana crosses the man’s name off the list.

“It’s going to be a long day,” Morgause says. Morgana nods.

“Next.”

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

“Are we almost done? The last bunch were terrible,” Merlin says, lying on the floor backstage. Gwen laughs behind her hand. Lance returns from peering out through the curtains.

“I think Morgana and Morgause agree with you there, Merlin.”

“How are you feeling?” Gwen asks. Merlin raises his bandaged arm. His fingers are cut up, but that’s just from working at the factory. He’s glad he’s gotten good enough at the job to limit the injuries to his fingertips.

“Fine,” Merlin says. He lets his arm drop again.

“Well enough to audition at the end?” Gwen asks.

“Maybe,” Merlin says evasively.

There’s a bit of a commotion before silence settles on the performance hall. Merlin looks onto the stage and sees the auditorium empty but for Morgana and Morgause – and, upon very close inspection, one blonde-haired man in the mezzanine. Merlin goes to ask Gwen about him – Arthur, was it? The prattish officer from the other night? – when Gwen pushes past him and walks to the middle of the stage.

“Merlin wants to audition,” she announces.

“What?” he squeaks. “No. I mean. I can, but you’ve seen so many people. I’m sure you want to go home and get a foot massage or something fancy like that.”

Morgana looks ready to laugh while Morgause continues to look bored.

“What’ll it be, Merlin?” she asks.

Merlin looks to Lance and Gwen on the side of the stage nervously. It’s been nearly five years since he’s sang in front of an audience.

“ _The Wizard and I_.”

“Ambitious,” Morgause says. She looks like a tiger waiting to pound on her prey at just the right moment. Merlin shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do you need the note?”

Merlin shakes his head, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’s getting the familiar rush of adrenaline, one he hasn’t felt in ages.

“I’ll just – yeah, I’ll start. No promises, though.”

He takes a deep breath, ignoring the shifting golden head in the mezzanine, and lets the first note fill his chest. The words come easily after he lets the music settle deep in his bones and take control. It’s, frankly, like magic.

 

_“Did that really just happen?_

_Have I actually understood?_

_This weird quirk I've tried_

_To suppress or hide_

_Is a talent that could_

_Help me meet the Wizard_

_If I make good._

_So I'll make good….”_

 

The lights are hot and intense, but the stage is wide and smooth and entirely Merlin’s. He suddenly remembers why he loves this song so much, and how good singing feels. It’s in his blood just as much as magic is.

 

_“When I meet the Wizard,_

_Once I prove my worth,_

_When I'll meet the Wizard—_

_What I've waited for since—since birth!_

_And with all his Wizard wisdom,_

_By my looks, he won't be blinded._

_Do you think the Wizard is dumb?_

_Or, like Munchkins, so small-minded? No!_

_He'll say to me,_

_"I see who you truly are –_

_A girl on whom I can rely!"_

_And that's how we'll begin_

_The Wizard and I.”_

 

Merlin sings the next few verses with ease, feeling the confidence building with every note, moving about the stage as though he never left it. He knows the higher notes are coming, but, hell, they’ve never stopped him before. The music flows like pure, white-hot energy through him, and as the song comes to a close, for once Merlin feels wholly in control, and wholly unstoppable.

 

_“And I'll stand there with the Wizard,_

_Feeling things I've never felt!_

_And though I'd never show it,_

_I'd be so happy I could melt!_

_And so it will be_

_For the rest of my life,_

_And I'll want nothing else ‘til I die._

_Held in such high esteem—_

_When people see me, they will scream_

_For half of Oz's favorite team:_

_The Wizard and I!”_

 

Merlin lowers his arms, not realizing exactly when he threw them open in a dramatic end to the song. He’s breathing heavily, but he’s not out of breath. He hears the echoes of his voice in the hall and winces.

“I’m a bit out of practice—”

Morgana holds up a hand and slowly stands.

“You’re in,” she says slowly. “If you really think that was _out of practice_ , Morgause can work with you. She’s a vocal coach. But that? That was incredible. That was real talent. Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“Er. A farm?”

Morgana shakes her head.

“Well, Merlin, your days on the farm are over,” Morgana states. “Get me your work hours I’ll send along a rehearsal schedule.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Merlin blurts. Morgana for a moment looks murderous. “I mean – I just moved here. It’s a lot to take on at once.”

“All the more reason to do the show,” Morgause says. “You’ll make some friends, feel like you’re part of a community. It’ll do you good, Merlin.”

Merlin hesitates.

“Give me a couple of minutes,” he mutters before climbing off-stage to join Gwen and Lance in the front row. They’re gaping at him.

“You know, when you said you were good—”

“Shut up,” Merlin says. Gwen and Lance say something excitedly to each other and Merlin slides lower in his chair.

Then the back door opens. Merlin turns and looks over the top of his seat as the only other person in the theater marches down the aisle to the stage.

“Arthur? What the hell are you doing here?” Morgana demands.

“Auditioning, obviously.”

“You’re not on the list.”

“Neither was he,” he says, pointing at Merlin. He gives Merlin a terse, barely-polite smile. “So. Will you let me sing, or will I have to beg?”

“You’re just as much of a drama queen as ever,” Morgana sighs. She turns to Morgause and whispers something to her. “Go ahead. What’ll it be?”

“ _Bring Him Home_.”

“Naturally,” Morgana says scathingly.

Merlin doesn’t know what he was expecting from the man who pulled him out of the fire, who was all muscle and shining blonde hair and masculinity – but it sure wasn’t the voice that began to sing then. Merlin knows what a good voice sounds like; he has his mother to thank for that. Arthur’s voice is _incredible_ – full, rich, overflowing with emotion but not overwhelmingly so. The sound itself is enough to bring tears to Merlin’s eyes, but the performance does him in.

Merlin falls a little in love when he hears Arthur Pendragon sing before he can even consider doing otherwise, and he knows he can’t take it back.

He looks at Gwen, who is clearly unsurprised but no less affected. Lance looks like he needs several tissues. One glance back at Morgana and Merlin knows Arthur’s impressed her. Even Morgause seems moved.

Merlin turns back to Arthur just as he reaches the end of the song. He hits the highest notes perfectly with such clarity that tears finally escape Merlin’s eyes. Arthur looks down at where he sits. A tiny smirk, very much like Morgana’s, forms on his face, which totally sours the moment, if Merlin’s being honest. Merlin slides lower in the seat and bites his tongue.

“Well? Have I still got it, Morgana?” Arthur calls out.

“Apparently so.”

“And?”

“We need to deliberate,” Morgana declares. “Go socialize awkwardly.”

Merlin stands up and stretches. Arthur hops off the stage and approaches him.

“You sang well,” Arthur says stiffly.

“You were incredible,” Merlin gushes at the same time. Arthur gives him a curious, mildly disgusted look before turning to Gwen and Lance.

“Just like at uni, eh, Gwen?” Arthur says with a winning smile. Gwen rolls her eyes.

“Very much so, Arthur,” she says with clear disinterest. “How are things?”

“Busy,” Arthur says. “Always a lot to do.”

“Hmm.”

“And you?”

“Busy, too,” Gwen replies. “I’m sorry we couldn’t chat the other night.”

“I was working. I didn’t have time to talk anyway,” Arthur says.

“Why are you being such an arse?” Merlin says before he can stop himself. Arthur turns to him.

“An arse? I wasn’t—”

“Merlin,” Lance warns.

“What? He’s behaving like one,” Merlin states.

“I’m the king’s son!”

“You’re a royal arse, then. My apologies, Your Highness,” Merlin says with an exaggerated bow. “What’s wrong? Never had someone talk back at you?”

“No one clearly so stupid!”

“Wha—You’re a _complete_ prat.”

“Idiot!”

“Cabbagehead.”

“ _Cabbagehead?_ What the hell?”

“Merlin….”

“Boys!” Morgana shouts. They all turn toward the directors. “We’ve made a decision. Since this casting is totally blind, and we haven’t got any other good candidates, Merlin, we want you to be Elphaba.”

“She’s a girl! I’m not a girl! I’m—”

“We’ll work it out,” Morgana says in such a way that offered no room for argument. Merlin elbows Arthur in the ribs when he starts laughing.

“Hey! You can’t—,” Arthur starts. Merlin shushes him.

“We’ll need you for call-backs with the Glinda candidates,” Morgana continues.

“And they are…?”

“Elena Gawant, the soprano who tripped on the stairs, and then again on the curtain,” Morgause pauses, “and Arthur.”

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

“What the hell? Morgana!” Arthur shouts. “This isn’t going to work!”

“Why not?”

“You said you didn’t want to fuck up the play! You can’t cast me for Glinda _and_ Merlin for Elphaba.”

“It’s a risk, but—”

“We have full confidence you can pull this off,” Morgana says authoritatively, “if we decide to pick you, that is. Elena could make an excellent Glinda, too.”

Arthur lets out an annoyed noise and stalks up to them.

“Are you just doing this to mess with me?” he demands.

“Never in a million years, Arthur,” Morgana says in a way that says otherwise. “You know I care far too much about this production to let you ruin this.”

“How? Why would I do that to you?”

Morgana narrows his eyes.

“You’re a busy man. You have other things to do. I want to be sure you’re committed,” she replies. “And, of course, Elena’s a great option, too.”

“Fine,” Arthur sighs. He takes a steadying breath. _It’s for the greater good, in the end_. “I’ll do whatever you want to show you I’m just as serious as you are.”

She slowly smiles, and Arthur starts to wish he’d worded his statement a little more carefully.

“I’ll ring about call-backs,” Morgana says. “Everyone out, now. We’ve got some more work to do here. Merlin? Get me those work hours ASAP.”

“Er. Sure,” Merlin says, sounding none too pleased. Arthur waits by the door until Merlin, Gwen, and Lance catch up to him.

“Why exactly is Morgana doing this again?” Lance asks in a hushed whisper. Arthur waits until the door slams shut and they’re on the street.

“She’s bored.”

“This is a pretty big project to do out of boredom,” he says dubiously.

“You don’t know Morgana, then.”

“No, I don’t, but I’ve heard enough about her,” Lance says coolly. He edges a little closer to Gwen, who gives him a vaguely reproachful look but doesn’t move away.

“And me, I’d guess.”

“Yes.”

“Look, I apologized to you Gwen for the way I behaved years ago. I understand you’ve got no reason to like me now, but I hope we can all be civil at least,” Arthur says, aiming for the diplomacy he uses when he attends council meetings to deliver reports from the Enforcement office. Gwen chews lightly on her lower lip. She’s thinking.

“Of course we can,” she says, sounding tired. “I don’t dislike you, Arthur. I hardly know you or Morgana anymore. We’re not the same people we were five years ago.”

“True,” he says.

Then, Merlin’s stomach growls obscenely loudly. Arthur glares at him reflexively, and he scowls back.

“What? It’s been hours since lunch,” Merlin says defensively.

“I didn’t say anything,” Arthur frowns.

“You didn’t have to,” he replies. Merlin turns to Gwen and Lance. “Are we getting dinner, then?”

“Actually, erm, we have dinner reservations in town,” Lance says, glancing around. “It’s our anniversary next week and we’re both working on the day.”

“Oh. Shit, I forgot – go have your dinner. I’ll just head back and grab something on the way,” Merlin says sheepishly. He flashes them a bright smile, clearly meant to be reassuring but Arthur finds it looked a bit deranged. Gwen and Lance offer a quick goodbye before setting off toward the Citadel gates. “What are you looking at?”

Arthur blinks.

“Nothing.”

“You were staring at me.”

“Well, with ears like those,” Arthur snorts. He shoves his hands in his pockets and starts walking. Merlin hurries after him. “Do you want a ride?”

“I can walk.”

“It’s an hour away on foot, probably more if you get lost,” Arthur adds. Merlin looks around. He makes a distressed sound, which, judging by the flush on his cheekbones that follows, is involuntary.

“Oh, fine.”

Arthur opens the door for him before getting into the driver’s seat, ignoring Merlin’s grumblings about not actually being a girl.

The silence is awkward, to say the least. Arthur, thinking back as they pull onto the Camelot Ring Road, realizes he _was_ a bit of a prat to them before. It was the nerves, of course. He hasn’t performed on stage since uni, and Arthur knew it was his only chance to impress Morgana and Morgause. If he hadn’t done well, his chances of getting Uther the location of the insurgent nest would have vanished completely.

That, and bloody _Merlin_.

Arthur drives sharply off the Ring Road and past the train station on the edge of the Darkling Quarter. Merlin grunts at the sharp turn before resuming staring out the window.

“For the record, I think you’ll look lovely in a dress, Merlin,” Arthur says as they pull up to the curb on Linden Lane.

“Fuck off,” he says, though there’s a tinge of a laugh to his words. Merlin opens the door and sticks a leg out before turning back to Arthur. “Do you… want to stay? For dinner, I mean. I was going to get pizza.”

“Pizza?” Arthur repeats stupidly. Suddenly the word is like a road block in his brain. “I, uh. I have to go back to work at the palace. I can’t just waste time like you.”

Merlin stares at him. Arthur winces. He can’t believe the words he just said.

“Right,” he says slowly. “Can’t hang about with us common folk, can you?”

“That’s not – I work with regular people every day,” Arthur says. _Shit_. “I’m not like that.”

“Whatever you say, mate.”

“We’re not mates,” Arthur scowls.

“You’re being rude again.”

“Thank you, Merlin, for pointing that out.”

“Anytime, prat. Thanks for the ride.”

Merlin slams the door shut, though thankfully not too hard, before stalking up to the door and disappearing inside. Arthur waits on the curb until he sees lights turn on a few floors up.

He bangs his head against the steering wheel and wonders what ill-spoken demon possessed him to say those things. He hasn’t felt this awkward since uni, and certainly not this affected by _anyone_ since he met Gwen (which quickly changed, of course, when he saw how close she was to Morgana, and later when he recognized that girls aren’t his cup of tea). He feels a strange mixture of hotness crawling under his skin and electricity in his fingers, churning his stomach, willing him to get up and _do something,_ when he looks up at the lone lit window in the apartment building.

Arthur’s never quite felt like this before.

He hears a clatter and a shout. Arthur looks up. The window is open and Merlin’s head is poking out. He’s rubbing his head where he’d been hurt during the riot. Arthur kicks himself for not having asked if he was okay. He glances up again and Merlin is still there, probably glowering at him, so Arthur drives away as quickly as he can.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

He watches Arthur’s car leave a trail of dust behind it before leaving to get the food. He walks slowly to the shop around the corner and makes small talk with the owner while he waits for the food. The doors are open to the shop, letting the warm summer air waft into the clean wide space.

When he gets back to the flat, he parks himself by the open window and looks out at Camelot. Beyond the gray factories and low-rise apartment buildings, the white walls of the Citadel rise, cowed by the towers of the palace itself. The sun sets behind it then, and the whole city comes alive with lights. Merlin feels a flutter of _something_ at the sight, at everything that’s happened today. It’s been the first truly good day in Camelot, and, though he’s not exactly staying out of trouble, Merlin’s determined to make the best of it – even if Prince Prat has to be there, too.

Merlin lets his magic free to replay Arthur’s performance from memory. His voice fills Lance’s flat, almost like a pure recording but better, like Arthur’s really there, bringing tears back to Merlin’s eyes just with the mere sound of the music he produced. Merlin wipes his face angrily.

“He’s still an arse,” he tells himself.

Arthur hits the high note again, and Merlin shuts the window. He doesn’t want to draw attention, and some selfish part of him wants to keep the beauty he finds in that performance all to himself. Merlin leaves the leftovers in the fridge and turns in early before he can overthink everything and memorize every possible way this whole _Wicked_ scenario could go wrong.


	4. What Is This Feeling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [What Is This Feeling?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_f_6w_bVKM4)

**Arthur**

 

“These are the people who’ve auditioned,” Arthur says, handing Uther three sheets of paper, one for each day Morgana tortured those poor souls. “She’s not taking all of them, but at least a third of them are suspected Druid members.”

“What do their files say?” asks Uther.

“Most of them are clean, but some of them have caused trouble in the past,” says Arthur. “This one assaulted an Enforcement officer last year in Bayor, and this one was caught vandalizing government property with druidic symbols. The rest are fairly minor instances.”

“Hmm. And the rest?”

“Locals, or people from the old theater groups Morgana used to work with at uni,” he replies. “Some of them are young enough to be in uni right now, to be honest.”

“Look them up. I want to be certain they’re enrolled somewhere and Morgana hasn’t smuggled some child soldiers into my city.”

“You don’t really believe she’d do that,” Arthur frowns, accepting the lists again.

“I don’t know,” Uther snaps, “but I can’t take that risk. Look into everyone. I don’t care if you’ve known them since childhood, Arthur. _Everyone_.”

“Yes, sir,” Arthur says with a nod. He starts to leave, but Uther stops him.

“I’ve received information regarding the insurgent cell’s location,” he says. Arthur freezes. “Confidential tip-off, of course, but it’s in favor of the Darkling Quarter theory.”

“Got it. I’ll have my men investigate it,” Arthur says.

“Have you any idea if these people Morgana has chosen have magic?” Uther asks. Arthur shakes his head, but he knows some of them must. “Find out. Keep a close eye on them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Arthur? Make sure she trusts you.”

“She has no reason to trust me, father.”

Uther leans back in his massive leather chair, a frown fixed on his lips. Arthur waits. Uther turns away and starts rifling through a file.

“Make sure she finds one,” he says without looking up.

\---

“What’s the plan for today, Arthur?” Leon asks when he wanders into the main office. Leon is sitting with Percival, Kay, Bedivere, and Pellinore around The Whiteboard. Kay has a fresh red string in hand and is attempting to pin it to the board.

“Put it where the riot was,” says Arthur, dumping his bag on the floor and sliding over to them in a rolling chair. “We’ve got another hint at the Darkling Quarter. I want to double the patrols tonight there.”

“Has this got anything to do with the Druid meeting?”

“What Druid meeting?” Arthur asks sharply.

“One group has been running its meetings out of an old shop near the industrial end,” Bedivere explains. “We’ve just figured out there’s been one around there almost immediately after two of the last five incidents in Darkling.”

“But it’s not the main group?” Arthur asks. “I’ve spoken with their leaders countless times. They’re all clean. They’re as worried as the rest of us.”

“No. We haven’t got a clue who they are in this group. All we know is they use Druid badges to ward their meeting place, just like the others, so they must’ve left another group,” Bedivere replies.

“Okay,” Arthur says, running his hand through his hair. “Right. Do we have any ideas? Any witnesses?”

“No.”

“Then how do we know?”

Leon looks to Percival and nods. Percival leaves momentarily and returns with a box, which he hands to Arthur. Inside are several burnt Druid badges, along with a logbook emblazoned with the Druid Group seal.

“These were found in the wreckage of the building that caught fire at the riot. That’s probably where the last meeting was, or where the next one was going to be,” says Percival. “From what we’ve heard, it’s the same building that took the brunt of the damage from the initial disturbance.”

“It used to be a dress shop,” says Kay, “but there was a flat above it.”

“Whose flat?”

“That’s the thing… the name it was signed to is of someone who’s been dead for twenty-odd years,” says Kay. “So either it was illegally owned, or it was passed down in the family and they never updated their paperwork. That’s as far as we got before you got here.”

“Find out everything you can about the original owner and any descendants they’ve got in the city,” Arthur says. “Leon, Percival – we’re going to go back and take a look for ourselves with the equipment. Get ready to go.”

Arthur hurries to his office. He grabs the phone and calls up a number he wished he didn’t have to use.

“Dr. Wilson’s office.”

“This is Arthur Pendragon. I have an urgent question for Dr. Wilson.”

He’s put on hold briefly.

“Arthur,” Gaius says, “I’m with a patient. What is it?”

“I need your help, Gaius,” says Arthur. He glances at the door. “It’s about the insurgents. I’m finding evidence they’re connected with the Druid group, or at least were at one point, and now there’s evidence possibly linking suspects back to the Purge era.”

“Breathe, Arthur,” Gaius says evenly. “It sounds like you’re doing your job quite well. I don’t see how I could possibly help you.”

“I need to know about the Purge, Gaius. You know my father still won’t say a word beyond the propaganda,” says Arthur. “Please. I understand I’m asking you to go directly against his orders, but… I don’t want to hurt these people just because a few made some bad decisions. I need to understand why this is happening.”

“I’m honestly surprised you haven’t asked sooner,” Gaius sighs. “It’s fine. Uther has kept us both quite occupied in the last few years.”

“Will you help me?”

“I will,” says Gaius, though he doesn’t sound entirely sure. “Get back to me with your availability for Friday. It’s my only free day this week. I’m to attend a medical conference in Nemeth over the weekend.”

“Right. I’ll send it to your secretary later today.”

“Good. Take care, Arthur.”

“I will. Thank you, Gaius.”

Leon knocks on the door. “Percival’s got the car ready.”

“I’m going to follow in mine,” says Arthur. “I’ve got my call-back after we’re done.”

Leon gives him a highly restrained smile and leaves Arthur’s doorway. Arthur feels a flutter of nerves at the thought, but he’s certainly comforted by the task at hand. He grabs the black bag in the corner of his office and his keys off his desk, and takes off at a run.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

“We haven’t got much time,” says Morgause, locking the doors to the theater. “Tell us the update.”

“The badges are gone,” says Aglain. “Lost in the fire as far as we can tell, but I didn’t get the sense that they were destroyed.”

“Fine. We’ll need to get more, then,” Morgause says. Morgana makes a note on a scrap of paper. “What else is missing?”

“The Logbook.”

Morgana looks ups.

“You left it there? Unattended?” she hisses. “That has sensitive information about all of us in it!”

“Don’t fret, my lady,” he says with a twist of a smile. “It’s locked shut. The Enforcement officials haven’t got the technology or the power to open it.”

“If they keep poking their noses around we’ll need to arrange to get the Logbook back,” Morgana says, writing on the scrap again. “What else?”

“Nothing from the flat,” Aglain continues. “The damage is bad, though. Nothing mundane could have survived.”

“And you don’t recognize the magic that started it all?”

Aglain shakes his head.

“I’m not particularly adept at that, my lady, but it was obviously a force we’ve never encountered,” he replies. “I’ll send Mordred out there sometime this week.”

“When will the next meeting be?”

“After Mordred investigates,” says Morgana. “I’ll plan for it.”

“Ensure no one can follow him there,” says Morgause.

“I know. It’ll be soon. Once rehearsals start, I have a few things we can do to get everyone out of the way,” she says. Morgause, pleased, sits back in her chair.

“Until then, we’ve got to find the entrance to the passages to the Underground,” Morgause says. Morgana pockets her notes and stands.

“Let’s go,” she says.

Morgana leads them down the aisles, onto the stage, and into the darkness behind the back curtain. The space backstage isn’t massive, but it’s big enough to hold only a few elaborate set pieces. The theater always used to use relatively minimalist sets. Morgana runs her hands along the concrete wall until she finds the loose block. She drops to her knees and feels around until she finds the handle for the trapdoor. Dust flies everywhere when she throws the door open. Once it settles, she drops through the hole in the floor and lands hard.

She creates a light in her palm and shines it around. She hears Morgause land lightly and Aglain follow. Morgana walks forward until she almost trips over something large and soft. Frowning, she looks up and around. There’s another trapdoor overhead, one that’s in the middle of the stage, if she’s not mistaken.

“That’ll be good for the closing scenes,” Morgause says. She reaches on tiptoe and touches the door. “It’s sealed. We’ll take care of that.”

On the far end of the stage they find the door, only instead of a door, it’s an extra layer of cinderblocks cemented together. Over the blocks there are rusty chains locked together in the middle with a heavy lock with the Pendragon insignia cut into it.

“How many layers of physical barriers have we got?” Aglain asks.

“Rumor has it there are six or seven,” Morgause says, “and then we have the magical wards to get through.”

Aglain takes a step back and throws out a hand. He utters a harsh whisper and his eyes glow gold. Morgana jumps out of the way just in time for his spell to hurdle at the chains and blocks. The whole space under the stage shakes dangerously, dirt and dust cascading from the ceiling. The noise of the blast echoes in Morgana’s ears. When she looks at the door, there’s no change.

“You fool,” Morgause says angrily. “The whole street must have heard that! We need more people so we don’t have to focus so much power using one source. If we do this right, it’ll be a silent demolition. Restrain yourself.”

Morgause shoves him out of her way and marches back to the door they used without even creating a light. Morgana says nothing to Aglain and follows her back onto the stage. They’re filthy now, and the call-backs are set to start in less than half an hour. Aglain resurfaces just as Morgause casts a spell to clean them off.

“You need to leave,” she says to him. “We’ve other work to do now.”

“You have no authority—,” he starts to shout, but Morgause silences him with a flick of her hand.

“I am a High Priestess of the Old Religion. I am one of _the_ Priestesses. If that isn’t authority enough, then I’m afraid we don’t have any use for you,” say Morgause calmly. She absently reaches for her belt where Morgana knows a knife would rest were they at one of their meetings. Morgause’s hand curls into a fist.

“I understand,” Aglain says when she releases him. He walks off the stage and leaves the theater without a word or parting glance.

“He’ll prove useful once we break him in,” Morgause says. “He’s a good find, sister.”

“He’s powerful,” Morgana says. “I don’t want him to cause more trouble than he’s worth.”

“Once we get through the first wall, he’ll learn to respect us. We’re more powerful than anyone in Camelot, Morgana,” she says soothingly. “We’re in control. If we find the Gatekeeper, if we can get the Great Dragon on our side, we will finally be able to win this war.”

“There have been… rumors, Morgause, of someone else,” Morgana says with uncertainty. “I have heard the name a few times over the years, but Mordred and the other true druids were talking about it quite a lot at the last meeting.”

“Who?”

“Emrys.”

Morgause laughs harshly. “Emrys? He’s a myth, Morgana.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s supposed to be a child of the land. He _is_ magic, in human form. His coming is supposed to turn the tide of the war,” says Morgause.

“Then why do they always sound worried?”

“The prophecies speak of Emrys allying with a Pendragon. A _full_ Pendragon,” she adds. Morgana feels her body go cold at the reminder of her botched lineage. “He is to be our undoing, apparently. He is a traitor in my eyes, and in the eyes of many like us. Some used to hope for Emrys to come, but he didn’t come to halt the Purge. He didn’t stop Uther from slaughtering our kind. He doesn’t exist, Morgana. Emrys is a myth.”

“Mordred doesn’t believe so,” Morgana says firmly. “He says he’s felt a change in the magic of the land. I heard him say Emrys’s magic is different from ours.”

“Morgana,” she says. She grips Morgana’s shoulders and shakes her. “Put Emrys out of your mind. _He doesn’t exist._ ”

Morgana nods, looking somewhere to the left of Morgause’s disapproving face.

The moment Morgause leaves to pick up their dinner, Morgana calls Mordred. She tells him about the task of investigating the magic at the site of the riot, and then she asks about Emrys.

“I don’t know anything about him, Morgana,” he says apprehensively. “I can’t say his time is coming, just because there’s been a tiny shift in the magic.”

“Keep an eye out for him, then. If you even have a hint that Emrys is coming, I want to know,” Morgana says.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Mordred vows.

“And if you learn he’s alive and in Camelot, track him down. Get me his name.”

“What will you do if you find him?”

“I don’t know,” Morgana admits, “but I’m not letting him stop us, if that’s his plan.”

“Emrys isn’t supposed to be our adversary. He’s supposed to bring peace to the land, even if it’s with the Pendragons’ help,” Mordred says. She hears a tiny frown in his words. “That is what all the prophecies say.”

“Damn the prophecies. I’m done with Uther and his clan,” she says harshly. “We are ending Uther’s reign, Mordred. If that means ending Emrys as well, then that’s exactly what we’ll do. Understood?”

He hesitates.

“Mordred! I need to know where your loyalties lie.”

“With you, Morgana. Always with you.”

“They’d better.”

She hangs up the phone before her rage bubbles over. She can feel her magic hovering under the surface of her skin, begging for the freedom to lash out at the pristine walls of the theater. She sits in the third row and lies back, staring at the beautiful ceiling. She’s almost calm, almost anxiety-free, when Morgause returns. Morgause asks what’s bothering her, but Morgana has let it go already. Well, she’s stored it away for later, as there are more pressing matters now.

“Precisely how long do you plan to torture Arthur like this?” Morgause asks, jerking her out of her thoughts.

“Oh, for as long as possible,” she replies. “It’s going to feel _wonderful_.”

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

Merlin tries to stay close to Lance while at the factory. He’s steadily gotten better at the job, but Lance insists he’s not being treated fairly. Nearly every damn day he tells Merlin to take it up with the foreman or at least the supervisor, but Merlin tells him no.

“Look, it’s risky enough doing this stupid play, interacting with Pendragons left and right,” Merlin whispers, “considering my fucked up magic situation. I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself.”

“You don’t deserve this treatment,” Lance protests. “It’s probably not even legal.”

“Fair enough, but I still don’t think it’s worth the trouble.”

“You said Gaius is going to try and take you on as his apprentice,” Lance says. Merlin nods and takes another bite of his sandwich. “Has there been any progress there?”

“I haven’t gotten the chance to met with him, or talk with him,” says Merlin.

“Call him tonight,” says Lance.

“Can’t,” Merlin says, shaking his head. “I’ve got to be at the callback tonight, and then I’m doing a night shift here.”

“What? Why?”

“To make a bit of extra money? Make up for the time when I wasn’t here at the beginning of the month?”

“I told you not to worry about the rent,” Lance frowns.

“It’s not about that,” Merlin says. He’s starting to feel frustrated. “It’s something else.”

“What could be so important?”

“My family,” Merlin says. Lance’s expression instantly changes to one of regret. Merlin leans closer after ascertaining that no one is close enough to hear them. “We moved around a lot when I was younger. We’ve been in Ealdor for a long time, but before I left, my parents said they were thinking about moving again.”

“Where now? If Ealdor out in the middle of nowhere isn’t safe—”

“Mercia,” Merlin says.

“Ah. So it’s travel papers, then?”

“If I can swing it,” Merlin says. “I’ll see what they want. At least I want to know they’ve got enough money to be smuggled over the border,” Merlin pauses, chewing on his lip. “I just want to make sure they’re safe. If they’ve got to leave again, it’s only because of me.”

The bell rings and the mess hall comes alive. Merlin balls up his brown bag and throws it away on the way back to work. Lance keeps close but he’s uncomfortably quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin says while they wait for the doors to open.

“I can’t say,” Lance frowns, “but something sure doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

“This whole… Morgana-Pendragon-putting-on-a-show thing,” Lance says, shaking his head. He turns his back to a few men looking at them curiously and lowers his voice. “She’s always been big on theater according to Gwen, but Arthur wanting to be part of it? That’s strange for him at this point in his life.”

“Gwen said so?”

“Do you know what happened? When they were at uni, I mean,” Lance says. Merlin shakes his head. The doors to their building in the factory opens. They walk single file down the steps to the floor they’re working today. The line moves too quickly for Lance to say more, “Ask me when you get home, all right? I think you need to know if you’re doing this show with them.”

“Got it,” Merlin says. He can’t imagine why he’d need to know anything about their uni experiences, but he trusts Lance. Hell, he’s learned to like and trust the man almost as quickly as it took him to like Will. Granted, he was a child when they met, and his parents advertised Will as a permanent playmate at the time, so there wasn’t much to dislike.

“Move it, kid,” someone grunts, shouldering Merlin hard. He stumbles forward.

“Hey!” he shouts reflexively. A rough hand grabs the back of Merlin’s shirt and throws him at the machinery. He hits the metal at a bad angle, bruising his already battered arm. Merlin looks up at the man towering over him.

“Quit making eyes at your boyfriend and get to work,” the foreman growls, “and don’t fucking dare talk back to me again.”

He walks away just as the machinery comes alive at Merlin’s back. He stands up, cradling his throbbing arm, and gets to work.

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

“Hey, love,” Lance says when she picks up the phone.

“Done with work?” Gwen asks.

“Yeah. Merlin just left for call-backs,” he replies. “D’you have customers or can you talk?”

“I’ve got a few. I can call you when I leave,” she says. “Won’t be long now.”

“All right. Good luck,” said Lance. He hangs up with a click. Gwen sets her phone behind the register just as the door opens. One customer leaves just as another two enter.

“Hello! Let me know if I—oh! I’m so glad you came back!” Gwen exclaims. She walks around the counter to greet the two sorcerers from the other day.

“We like the sign,” the woman says, pointing at the window.

“It’s only fair,” Gwen says firmly. “What are you looking for? The offer still stands, whatever you want, on the house.”

“Oh, no, we wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your boss,” the man starts.

“Well, I’m the boss. It’s my shop, my products. I insist,” she adds with a smile. They brighten instantly.

“We’re getting married. We’re looking for something… a little different than the usual wedding band,” says the woman. She looks at her fiancé, biting her lip. “We were wondering if we could commission something.”

“Oh of course!” Gwen says brightly. “I haven’t had one in ages. I was really starting to miss it. Tell you what. If you can come back in say an hour, I can sit with you and we can talk about this in the back. Or, we can make an appointment and you can come back another day when I have another employee running the front of the shop.”

“We’ve got somewhere to be in an hour so an appointment would be good,” the man says. “John,” he adds, offering his hand.

“Mary,” says his fiancé.

“Pleasure,” Gwen smiles. She sets them up for an appointment in a few days when Kiera will be on shift.

“Look, we don’t know you at all, but you seem… you look like you might be interested in sitting in a Druid meeting. We’re talking about these anti-sorcery signs tonight. You might find it useful,” John says.

“Plus your perspective would be great to have, since you’ve had this shop here for so long.”

“Is that allowed? Are people like me able to just show up at Druid meetings?”

“Well, we have some strictly magic-related business we deal with first but after that we let any non-magic folk come in and we all talk together.”

“Then… I’d love to.”

\--- 

She closes up shop at five and heads straight to Juniper. There’s a bright sign, declaring _Going out of Business!_ Gwen sighs.

“Gwen,” came a familiar voice. Joseph is standing a few meters away, forehead lined with worry. He’s wearing his Leatherworks apron and look just as nervous as he looked angry back when Gwen put up her pro-sorcerer sign.

“Hello,” she says. “How was business today?”

“Are you going to the Druid meeting in there?” he asks, cutting past the pleasantries.

“I am,” she states. “If you have a problem with that, keep it to yourself, Joe.”

“No it’s just—I thought about what you said. I’ve… been sitting in my shop for the last ten minutes trying to work up the nerves to go in there.”

“To do what?” she asks, suddenly alarmed.

“Nothing like that! I wanted to go see what the fuss is about.”

“With… magic?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Gwen looked past him down the street to his shop. It was locked up, and the red lettered-sign was gone.

“People get scared, y’know? I lost my uncle in the Purge; he had magic and he got caught up in some bad shit.”

“It happened to a lot of people, magic or not,” says Gwen. She knows Joseph heard something in her voice beyond courtesy sympathy, but he doesn’t ask. She’s glad for it.

“Let’s go inside,” she says. “They’ll be done with their private magic stuff in a few minutes.”

Joseph nods and lets her lead the way. The restaurant is dark; the only light Gwen sees comes from the kitchen. There’s a pimply boy sitting on a stool next to the closed door, tapping away at his phone.

“We’re here for the meeting,” Gwen says. He looks up. “John and Mary said we could come.”

“Oh,” he blinks. The boy looks through the small window on the door. “Go on, they’re done now.”

Gwen’s throat tightens. What the hell is she doing? What if they kick her out? What John and Mary were wrong and they don’t want anything to do with the shop owners on this block?

The door opens.

“Gwen! I’m so happy you made it,” Mary says, beaming.

“This is Joseph. He owns Leatherworks. He wanted to learn a bit about magic.”

Mary looks up at him. Gwen can tell she knows his is one of the shops with the anti-sorcery signs. _Hell, if I were them I’d keep a detailed list_ , Gwen thinks.

“The more the merrier. Come on, everyone’s excited you’re here,” she says, taking Gwen by the arm and leading her into the room. It’s large and bright. They’re collected in the main aisle between cooking stations. Gwen recognizes a few faces—customers, residents of the area—and smiles at the crowd. She can tell Joseph is nervous by the way he fidgets.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Gwen murmurs.

He nods, for once unable to speak.

“Glad you could join us,” John says. “Come, take a seat, have some food! Domingo’s cooked us up a great platter tonight.”

Gwen takes a seat, Joseph settling on the side of the room. Her heart flutters at the attention on her, but she feels better than before. They’re curious, perhaps a little wary, but certainly not raring to throw her out.

“Let’s start.”

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

Merlin’s napping on the floor backstage when the back door opens and lights flood the darkness.

“Merlin,” Arthur says. Merlin resolutely ignores him. “ _Merlin_.”

Something small and hard hits his face.

“Ow! Gah! You fuc—that hurt!” Merlin hisses. He feels around the darkness for whatever Arthur threw at him. “Is that a shoe?”

He holds it up to the light from the doorway. It’s obnoxiously sparkly and silver.

“Huh. I guess it is,” Arthur shrugs. He sits down next to Merlin. “Elena’s out there, yeah?”

“Yep,” Merlin says shortly. Arthur keeps looking at him, so he says, “She’s really nice. Don’t be a prat to her.”

“I know her father,” says Arthur. It’s Merlin’s turn to stare at him.

“Right. You’re _important_ or something.”

“I mean – he’s on my father’s council, so I’ve talked to him once or – Elena likes horseback riding, according to him,” Arthur says. He hunches over and holds his head in one hand, his arm propped up on his folded knee. Merlin looks at him for a long moment. Somehow, he doesn’t think Arthur Pendragon usually has a hard time articulating.

“Huh. I didn’t know that.”

Arthur makes a noncommittal sound in response. They settle back into the same tense, awkward silence they’d shared in the car ride to Lance’s flat the other day. Merlin picks at the frays on the hem of his jeans. Elena’s sweet soprano carries through the curtains.

“She’d make a good Galinda,” Arthur murmurs.

“I don’t know. I think the big glittery dress suits you better,” Merlin says thoughtfully. Arthur punches his shoulder. “Ow! What the hell? Why do you keep abusing me?”

“I’m not abusing you, Merlin,” Arthur says. Though it’s dark Merlin can hear the eye-roll louder than Elena’s singing. “Quit being such a baby.”

Merlin groans and lies back on the floor.

“Ugh! Don’t get the dust all over!” Arthur exclaims, shuffling away from Merlin.

“You sat on the bloody floor, too! It’s going to be dirty!”

“You’re covering yourself in it now! It’s, like, twenty-five-year-old dust! That’s unsanitary.”

“What, not up to your usual standards?”

“Not really, no,” Arthur says, “though I thought Morgana would be more thorough in fixing the place up.”

Merlin trails his fingers across the floor. The dust is heavy around where they’re sitting, but somewhere behind him, the floor is pristine. Merlin frowns. He turns around and squints, but he can’t see a damn thing. A light appears out of nowhere.

“What the—”

“It’s just my phone,” Arthur sighs. Merlin stares at it. “You have seen a phone before, haven’t you?”

“Yes!” Merlin says, his face heating up. “Lance has one, but it’s not as posh as yours.”

“You don’t have one, though,” Arthur says slowly.

“Why have you always got to be such a prat?” Merlin says angrily. “I come from fucking farm country. We still have phones on the wall with cords. The only cars around are owned by the government, and everyone else just walks, because the town is the size of the factory where I work.”

“I didn’t mean it like that! I know what it’s like out there.”

“What, simple? Backwards?”

“Will you just shut up? Stop putting words in my mouth!” Arthur snaps. “I’ve been to the edges of Camelot. I know how bloody different it is. It’s like night and day compared to the Citadel.”

“You’ve got that right,” Merlin says.

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There’s everything wrong with that! People out there work just as hard as people here, and we’re practically in poverty! The Enforcement officials can’t do shit to keep the peace—”

“They work hard,” Arthur says, now sounding just as angry as Merlin. “They’ve got their work cut out for them in places like Ealdor.”

“Of course they do, but they’re not stopping the right guys if people with magic are still being murdered or attacked left and right,” Merlin fumes.

“It’s not that simple, _Mer_ lin.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“The law states we need sufficient evidence to investigate any claims relating to crimes directed against magical persons,” Arthur says, but Merlin silences him.

“Don’t give me the rule book. I’ve read it before.”

“Then what the hell do you want?” Arthur shouts.

“Boys!” Morgana shouts. Her face appears between the red curtains. Merlin and Arthur both look over at her; Arthur’s hair brushes his cheek. Merlin realizes after all their arguing their heads are mere inches apart. “Merlin, we need you for Elena’s duet in a minute.”

“Great. Thanks,” Merlin says. He stands up and brushes the dirt off his clothes. His hands come away gray and covered in a thick film rather than a dusting. He frowns.

“You’ve got a bit…,” Arthur says. Merlin looks at Arthur pointing at his nose and smirking. Merlin paws at his face, but clearly it only makes it worse, if Arthur’s guffawing is any indication. He lets out a frustrated noise.

“You’re fucking impossible,” Merlin mutters.

“Am I? And here I thought we were having a semi-intelligent conversation.”

“Not with you rolling about like a hyena.”

“Hyena!? I’m not a hyena!” Arthur pauses. “I’m a lion.”

“Yeah? What’s that make me?”

“One of those birds who sits on a water buffalo’s backside and eats bugs,” says Arthur. “Or maybe a meerkat.”

“Whatever you say, Simba,” Merlin says. Merlin shoves his hands into his pockets and winces at the sudden movement. His arm is still sore from the impact with the machinery. He starts to walk away.

“Oh, come on, don’t go yet! Morgana’s not going to kill you if Elena gets another minute of her break,” Arthur calls after him.

“I’d rather not piss her off,” Merlin says.

“Hakuna Matata, Merlin. It means no worries.”

Merlin, who’s in pain and annoyed to no end with Arthur _I’m-an-important-prat_ Pendragon, rounds on him.

“It means you can fuck off!”

With a huff Merlin pushes past the curtain and joins Elena on the stage.

“Oh, hello,” she says pleasantly. She’s reading over the music in her hands. “Are you and Arthur having a row back there?”

“He’s taking a time-out,” Morgana calls as she drags Arthur out from behind the curtains by the ear and parks him in the front row of seats at the far right end. Merlin turns his back to him.

“You sounded great before,” Merlin says.

“Yeah? Thanks! I haven’t sung in ages. I mean, the horses like a tune every now and again, but nothing this spectacular,” says Elena, waving at the golden pillars framing the stage.

“D’you ride a lot, then?” Merlin asks. Elena brightens and nods feverishly.

“Whenever I can,” she says. “I’ve got a competition coming up soon, actually. I want to do this show but if it gets in the way of my riding….”

“Right. Makes sense,” Merlin says.

“Morgana’s not gonna be so easy to convince, huh?” Elena says with a rather unflattering giggle. Somehow, it still suits her. Merlin can’t help but laugh, too.

“She’s a bit of a hardass,” Merlin agrees, “but I feel like she’s got a good heart somewhere under all the designer clothes.”

Elena laughs so hard she snorts.

“God, I hope so.”

“Are you done gossiping yet?” Morgause says, walking up to them with a small, round object. She attaches it to her phone and hits a button. Music spills from the round speaker and fills the stage easily. She pauses it. “Sing as much of the song as you can. We’ll stop you if we want you to do anything else.”

Morgause stalks off the stage.

“ _She’s_ probably the one who’ll kill you for missing auditions,” Merlin whispers to Elena. She laughs as quietly as she can. “So. Let’s do this?”

Elena nods, her messy blonde hair falling into her face. Morgause starts the music.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

Merlin and Elena get through most of the song before Morgause stops them. Morgana gets up and tells them to put in some of the actions, too, not to just sing the words.

“We know you’re both able to sing it,” she says curtly. “Show us you can act it.”

They start over. It’s better, but Morgana could tell from the moment she started watching Merlin and Elena talking onstage that it wouldn’t quite work.

“She’s good, and she sounds good with him,” Morgause whispers.

They work well on-stage together, but Merlin’s clearly more experienced in the way he holds himself and practically leads the song when it should be balanced.

“There’s no spark,” Morgana says. “They get along too well.”

“They’ll be acting,” Morgause says, but Morgana shakes her head.

“There’s got to be a spark of… _something_. You know? It has to be there offstage too for this to work, especially if we’re going to take these risks with the blind casting,” she says. Morgause murmurs in assent. She watches them finish the song and shakes her head slightly. “This has to be an argument full of emotion and drama. That? That was a level-headed conversation.”

“We’ll see how Arthur fares.”

She hasn’t forgotten the heated dispute she walked in on when getting Merlin from backstage earlier. Morgana’s grinning hugely before Arthur even gets on stage. Merlin’s demeanor changes instantly from open and happy to very obviously annoyed. Morgana smirks at her notes as Morgause goes to reset the music.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

Arthur crosses the stage to where Merlin stands.

“What happened to your arm?” Arthur asks before he can stop himself. He points at the huge purple bruise on Merlin’s already cut-up forearm. Merlin glares at him.

“Nothing. Can we get this over with already?”

Merlin looks at Morgause and indicates for her to start the music before Arthur can even respond. Arthur turns to face Merlin. He looks exhausted, to be frank, with dark circles under his eyes, a slightly pinched look to his face. Merlin’s expression softens to a frown after a moment.

The music starts.

 

_“Dearest darlingest momsie and popsicle.”_

 

Arthur cringes at the words coming out of his mouth. He can practically hear Morgana’s earth-shattering struggle not to laugh.

 

 _“My dear father,”_ Merlin says flatly. Arthur looks at him again; there’s a tiny smile tugging at Merlin’s lips now – _damn it, they’re nice lips_ , Arthur realizes – but Merlin resolutely keeps it in check. The instruments start.

 

 _“There’s been some confusion over rooming here at Shiz,”_ they sing together.

_“But of course I’ll care for Nessa.”_

_“But of course I’ll rise above it,”_ Arthur sings, grinning hugely on the trill. Merlin rolls his eyes.

_“For I know that’s how_

_You’d want me to respond, yes._

_There’s been some confusion_

_For you see my roommate is…”_

 

Arthur takes a breath.

 

_“Unusual and exceedingly peculiar and all together quite impossible to describe…”_

 

He hears a loud snort somewhere in the theater. Merlin bites into his lower lip, his eyes threatening to crinkles with a laugh. The strings fade out.

 

_“Blonde.”_

 

Arthur bites back a snort of his own. It’s really too perfect. The horns and percussions kick in, driving energy into Arthur’s body. Suddenly he doesn’t feel like he worked in the field all afternoon.

 

_“What is this feeling so sudden and new?”_

_“I felt the moment_

_I laid eyes on you.”_

_“My pulse is rushing.”_

_“My head is spinning.”_

_“My face is flushing—”_

_“Oh, what is this feeling?_

_Fervid as a flame_

_Does it have a name?_

_Yes….”_

_“Loathing! Unadulterated loathing!”_ they half-sing, half-shout. They’ve been almost literally dancing around each other but now Arthur’s facing Merlin head-on.

_“For your face—”_

_“Your voice—,”_ Merlin sings, edging closer to him. Arthur can’t stop the smile threatening to break his character.

_“Your clothing!”_

_“Let’s just say, I loathe it all!_

_Every little trait however small_

_Makes my very flesh begin to crawl_

_With simple utter loathing!_

_There’s a strange exhilaration_

_In such total detestation_

_It’s so pure, so strong!_

_And I do admit it came on fast_

_Still I do believe that it can last_

_And I will be loathing,_

_Loathing you my whole life long!”_

 

The chorus comes in and sings for a few lines. Arthur catches his breath. His heart is racing, though, and he can’t tell why. They’re not really dancing much, and the song isn’t so exhausting that he should feel so breathless. One glance at Merlin and Arthur knows he’s not the only one affected. He can almost feel the excited heat on Merlin’s body, the telling flush on his cheeks bright against his pale skin. A bead of sweat runs down the side of Merlin’s face and Arthur resists the inexplicable urge to wipe it away.

Arthur jumps in at the appropriate moment to sing, _“Well, these things are sent to try us!”_

Merlin scoffs.

“What?” Arthur hisses.

“You’re overdoing it.”

“That’s the whole point of Galinda at this point in the story!”

“Yes, but you’re messing up the sound—”

Morgause clears her throat loudly. Arthur and Merlin both jump back into the song again a little belatedly, the crease between Merlin’s brows still very much present. The music forces it away pretty quickly, Arthur sees. It’s hard not to let the song take over, really; Arthur hasn’t felt this light and free in years. For the first time in ages, work doesn’t feel like _work_ , and Arthur lets the music win. It’s a bit messy sounding, since they haven’t got real people to bounce off of for the second half of the song, but he can almost feel the dancers in their costumes around them, the green accents glittering around their little set-up of Shiz. It’s easy to block Morgana and Morgause out, just like he can shut out the audience when performing for real.

Arthur’s no fool – he knows he has to at least partly attribute the way he’s feeling to Merlin. He hasn’t been around someone this _good_ since uni, and even then no one he knew compared to the man he’s sharing the stage with right now. Job or not, Arthur wants the part, and it’s not just because Merlin obviously sounds a hell of a lot better with him than Elena. Morgana would have to be deaf to deny that.

 

_“Loathing! There’s a strange exhilaration_

_In such total detestation!”_

 

Frankly, he’d be a liar if he didn’t find it at least a _little_ thrilling. And a tiny bit hot, if he’s being _really_ honest. There’s something about him, really. He can’t put his finger on it, but it’s waking something in Arthur he can’t name either. He’s a natural, playing off Arthur like he’s been doing it for years rather than minutes. Arthur does his best, too, but he can’t help but be awed by Merlin.

 

_“It’s so pure so strong!”_

 

Then, of course, Merlin trips over his own feet and almost falls in the middle of one of his lines. Arthur reacts fast and stops him mid-fall by catching his good arm.

 

_“Though I do admit it came on fast_

_Still I do believe that it can last,”_ they sing as Arthur rights Merlin. He shoves free of Arthur’s grip and scowls at him through the next lines.

“ _And I will be loathing_

_For forever loathing—”_

 

Arthur’s wondering when the hell they ended up nose-to-nose, singing right into each other’s faces, all tense lines and irritation, but _fuck_ if this isn’t turning him on, he doesn’t know what could.

 

_“Truly, deeply loathing you –_

_Loathing you!_

_For my whole life long!”_

 

The last bars ring out. Arthur’s a little blinded by the lights, a little overwhelmed and over-stimulated, high on the performance, on _Merlin_ —

 

_“Boo!”_

 

Arthur will never admit just how loudly he yelped. He leaves the theater before Morgana and the others can force themselves to stop laughing. His heart still pounds painfully quickly when he gets into his car. He throws all his notes from the riot site visit into the back seat with the black equipment bag and his work clothes.

The silence there is stifling. Arthur turns the radio on loudly enough to drown out the blood rushing in his ears and distract him from his shaking hands. He drives out to the Ring Road and goes all the way around Camelot until he reaches the Fallen Kings. He pulls over and rests his head against the steering wheel. The cool air from the vents in his car chills the skin on his forehead.

“I’m fucked,” Arthur realizes. _And it’s all Merlin’s fault._


	5. Something Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Something Bad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5XGKGb4R33Q)

**Merlin**

 

He almost gets caught in the machinery three times before the last bell rings and it’s time to go home. Merlin could cry he’s so relieved. He waits until most of the other workers have left the work hall to turn the machinery off and join them in the courtyard to wait for the hall with their lockers to open up. He drags his feet outside. Without Lance with him, work is an even duller affair, minus the increased risk of injury, because 1) Merlin is exhausted after the day shift and the callbacks and 2) the _callbacks_ and _Arthur fucking Pendragon_.

Merlin’s about to go on a mental rant for the fourth time since getting to the factory after the call-backs when he hears someone say the word _Priestesses_. Merlin perks up instantly and hones in on the speaker. His magic dances under his skin as he listens.

“They’re planning something,” says one man.

“We haven’t heard anything at the meetings in ages,” says another. “The guy who usually comes to the same meetings as me hasn’t shown up since the last riot.”

“I hear they’re trying to kill the Pendragons.”

“No fucking shit,” the first one says. “That’s the end goal. I think… they’re stocking up right now.”

“With what?”

“Weapons. Power. Allies.”

“For a war?”

“Yeah,” the first says, sounding breathless at the thought. “That’s what we’ve been waiting for, right?”

There’s an uneasy silence between the men.

“My family’s gotta stay out of this, if that’s what’s coming,” one man says hesitantly. “War’s bad news.”

“They’ll be needing us. We can’t let the Priestesses down now,” says the first man.

“What about the Underground? Have they given up on that?”

“I think that’s why they’re so quiet, not giving the Network any orders… they’re digging it up,” says the first man in a low voice. Merlin puts out a little more magic and strains to listen. “They’re lookin’ for the Gatekeeper, I reckon. If they’ve got her, they’ve got the whole Underground, and then they can take Camelot from the Pendragons.”

“What about the dragon?”

“There’s no fucking dragon, you idiot. Pendragon killed them all, and the dragonlords,” the first snaps.

“My Druid leader mentioned Emrys,” one whispers. Merlin shuts his eyes, trying to listen in spite of the growing noise around him. His magic fights harder. “He’s gonna take Uther Pendragon down, not those damn Priestesses. They’re going to destroy Camelot to save it, but Emrys… Emrys can make Camelot great.”

Merlin’s magic surges and he gasps. He hunches over, pain in his stomach blooming and spreading like fire. He sucks in another breath and waits, but the magic keeps bubbling up in agonizing bursts. He can’t hold it down much longer, and the harder he tries the more difficult it becomes. Merlin forces his eyes open and wipes his brow as he looks around. The courtyard is empty.

Merlin flees the factory. When he’s in the open air, he collapses against a tree in the lot behind the factory. His magic starts to flow, the earth dragging it out ever so slightly, evening out the flares, but it’s not enough. In a bright burst the magic surges out of Merlin into the space around him.

When Merlin opens his eyes, he finds the tree behind him scorched, the ground around him covered in blackened grass, the air stale with death. Merlin digs his fingers into the dirt. The earth is there, responding to him, calming him back to normal, but it’s too little too late. The sun is well above the horizon now, and the damage is already done.

He quietly explains what happened to Lance while Gwen is in the kitchen when he gets back to the flat to find them waiting with breakfast.

“It was stronger than the night of the riot. I dunno what triggered it then, but this time… it was a specific word,” Merlin says, frowning at his orange juice. “Emrys.”

“I’ve never heard it before,” Lance says.

“I’ll call Gaius later,” he says.

“Merlin? Promise you’ll get some sleep first?” Gwen says, taking his empty plate away.

“Yes, mum,” Merlin grumbles. “Wait. Is there a post office nearby?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I wanted to send my family a letter,” Merlin says, looking away.

“Why not call them?”

“We can’t afford to actually use our phone unless it’s an emergency,” Merlin explains. “It’s crap, anyway. The phone lines only work about half the time.”

“Ah. Well, I’m heading to the factory soon. I’ll drop it off on the way,” Lance says. “Is it in your room?”

“Envelope on the desk,” Merlin says. He fails to stifle a yawn. Gwen takes his good arm and eases him out of the chair.

“Come on,” she says gently. “Let’s get you to sleep. We’ll have a chat when you’re up.”

“Aren’t you working today, too?” Merlin asks.

“I took the day off,” she replies. “I needed some time to work on the costumes for the show. Morgana and I met up a few days ago to talk through some ideas.”

“Oh. That’s great,” Merlin yawns. Gwen drags his covers back and tucks Merlin in.

“Do you miss your family?” she asks as he draws the covers close.

“Sometimes,” Merlin replies. He’s suddenly too tired to think about the words he’s saying. “I like it here. Better than Ealdor. I think I’m safer here, and they’re surely safer without me.”

Merlin doesn’t even feel Gwen get up off the end of his bed. He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, curled in on himself around his bruised arm.

\---

Merlin hangs up the phone.

“So?” Gwen asks from where she’s working at the kitchen table with her sketchbook.

“He’s busy all week but Friday,” Merlin says. “I’m going to go over there after work.”

“Morgana’s sending out a message soon about the call-backs and rehearsals,” Gwen says. “Better free up your evenings.”

“Great,” Merlin sighs, plopping into the chair across from Gwen. Merlin wanders to the kitchen after a few minutes and puts on a pot of tea.

“You owe me a story, according to Lance,” Merlin says conversationally. “Want some tea?”

“Are you bribing me?” Gwen asks suspiciously.

“Sort of? I won’t withhold the tea if you—”

“I’m joking, Merlin,” Gwen laughs. She moves her books aside and makes room for the tea. Merlin sits next to her now and waits.

“Right. So, Morgana and I grew up together,” Gwen starts. “We were close.”

“You said you dated?”

“Yeah,” Gwen says. The sadness in her voice is unmistakable. “That was at uni. She and I were happy. It’d been a long time coming, you know? Being friends for so long, it sort of… just happened.”

“I get that,” Merlin says, holding back a grimace. Gwen sees.

“I take it you’ve got a story, too?”

“So, Morgana,” Merlin pushes on, ignoring her curious look. “What happened?”

Gwen rolls her eyes at him.

“We were happy, or so I thought. Let’s say Uther wasn’t too happy with her,” Gwen says.

“For dating you?”

“He told her nothing serious could happen, and Morgana didn’t care. I believe that. No, the problems came when she figured out she had magic,” Gwen says, trailing a finger around the rim of her mug. Merlin almost drops his own.

“Magic? Morgana has magic? The king’s daughter?”

“Well… that’s another thing, isn’t it? She’s not really—you do know about that, don’t you?”

“Er… we don’t get a lot of national news in Ealdor,” Merlin says, feeling a bit uncomfortable. It’s like Arthur and his posh phone all over again.

“She’s his half-daughter,” Gwen says simply. “Uther had an affair with the wife of his closest friend. That’s part of why one of the quarters of Camelot’s called Gorlois.”

“Ah. That’s… really awkward, actually.”

“Yep,” Gwen says. “Morgana didn’t take it so well at first, especially with the magic stuff happening around then, too, but she got over the half-child thing. Uther didn’t love her less for it, and she didn’t like him any more or less than before, in the end. I kept telling her she never wanted to rule or anything – it’s true; we used to listen to Arthur complain about sitting in on Uther’s meetings and – oh, well, you get the point.”

“So… was it the magic, then?”

Gwen nods. Her grip tightens on her mug.

“She hated me because I didn’t understand, or she thought I didn’t,” Gwen says softly. “I don’t have magic. I didn’t know anyone who did until Morgana came into her powers and got a grip on them at uni. Morgause _helped_ her in ways I couldn’t, and she hated me for it.”

“Did she – did they—?”

“No, but she went right to her after she ended it with me,” Gwen says. “I was happy it was over, after I gave it some thought. It’d become toxic very quickly, which shows just how weak the whole relationship was from the start.”

Merlin takes Gwen’s hand in his and squeezes.

“She hurt you,” he says. “That’s a shitty thing, but you’re allowed to be mad about it.”

“I’m not,” she says, shaking her head with a tiny smile. “I forgave her ages ago. She was scared of herself, her father, so many things, really. I don’t blame her. Really, Merlin! It’s been five years! I’m fine.”

“She was your best friend.”

“Yes, that’s true. I still miss that.”

“What about now?” Merlin asks. “Are you okay seeing her again?”

“More than okay,” she smiles. “I’m hoping we can start over like this. I really have missed her, and she seems ten times better than when we were at uni.”

“What about Arthur?” Merlin asks. Gwen’s smile fades. “Lance made it pretty clear you’ve both got some problems with him, too.”

“Arthur’s heart is in the right place,” Gwen says, her voice suddenly clipped and cool compared to before. “He just doesn’t always know what to do about it.”

“What’s that even mean?”

“It means he didn’t take Morgana’s magic well.”

“Oh… what happened?”

“Well, for one thing, Uther told him, not Morgana,” Gwen says. “He came in during a rehearsal and dragged her out into the hall but we all heard what was happening. It was horrible. Arthur was furious that she never told him, and Morgana kept trying to tell him it wasn’t something she knew for sure until recently, but Arthur… he didn’t know a damn thing about magic then. Uther kept him under a rock. She hadn’t even come into her powers yet fully, then.”

“He’s an Enforcement officer now,” Merlin says slowly. “Is this why?”

“I suppose,” Gwen says dismissively. “Arthur made Morgana worse after that incident. It took ages to get her calm, and her magic… that’s really where I couldn’t do anything for her. She didn’t talk to him for weeks, and by the time they were back on civil terms, we’d broken up. I didn’t much feel like talking to Arthur after that, so I didn’t.”

“You weren’t as close to him as with Morgana, were you?”

“No. It wasn’t so bad, but after a while, Arthur looked really quite sad,” Gwen says, “so I had lunch with him one day. He told me he wanted to make things right. He said he’d done research, he wanted to do all these things, get equality for magical people in all of Camelot – really very noble, very typically-Arthur things to say, but I was sure it was the guilt talking. But… apparently not.”

The sun outside emerges from behind a cloud and casts a yellow glow in the room through the curtains. It softens the air between them. Merlin toys with his teabag.

“Is that what he’s doing, then?” Merlin asks, not looking up from the little tag at the end of the string of the teabag. “Trying to change the world?”

“That’s Arthur for you,” Gwen says with a wistful smile. “He’s been working hard, if the papers are telling the truth. He’s been making appeals to Uther’s council for years, but it’s been for nothing.”

“Because of all the magical attacks, right?” Merlin says. “They’re doing this because they can’t walk around without thinking someone’s gonna jump them and kill them.”

“Oh, god, I know! I get that. It must be horrible,” says Gwen, shaking her head. “Arthur’s right in what he’s doing, but what the insurgents are doing isn’t right, even if they’ve got a good reason to be upset.”

“No,” Merlin agrees. “It’s ruining any chance we’ve got for something better, really. But I can’t blame them for being angry and wanting some change.”

“No, I can’t either.”

Gwen’s quiet for a while.

“Who are the Priestesses?” Merlin asks. “I heard some guys at the factory mention them. I’ve heard that term before.”

“I don’t know,” Gwen says, biting her lower lip. She takes Merlin’s mug and goes to the kitchen. “Sorry, Merlin.”

“It’s fine,” he says. Merlin rubs his eyes. “I’ll ask Gaius.”

“I’m going to go buy fabric in a few minutes. Want to come along? Or would you rather stay and rest?” Gwen asks. She slings her purse over her shoulder. Merlin’s sure if he goes to bed now he won’t wake until tomorrow morning. Merlin agrees to go and follows Gwen out the door.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

Morgana sends the email out to everyone with the final cast list and the week’s rehearsal schedule. She sits back in her chair, satisfied.

“Arthur’s going to want to murder me,” she says happily.

Morgana leaves her chambers in favor of her favorite coffee shop down the road. She doesn’t pass a single person on the way out of the palace, and there aren’t any paparazzi waiting at the gate. Still, she pulls her wide-brimmed hat low over her face until she’s out of the shadow of the palace walls. As she reaches The Isle Café she sees Mordred sitting inside by the window. She joins him with an iced coffee, leaving her hat on.

“Is it always so hot in the city?” he asks, leaning closer to the air conditioning vent.

“The stones keep the heat in,” Morgana says. “Did you go to the old meeting site?”

“Yes,” Mordred says. He pauses to sip from his drink. “It’s incredible, Morgana. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“So Aglain is right. Whatever made the initial disturbance is something we’ve never encountered before in Camelot,” Morgana says.

“Absolutely.”

“There’s something else,” Morgana says, narrowing her eyes at the boy. The feverish glaze to his eyes isn’t from the heat, she realizes. “Do you know whose magic that was, Mordred?”

“It was Emrys,” he says in a swift exhale. “I’ve been trained my whole life to sense his magic. The earth chose me for this, Morgana. I’m a Hypersensitive with a purpose.”

“You’re certain?” she says faintly.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell what their true name is?” she asks.

“No. It’s not so simple,” Mordred says. “I... won’t be able to tell you who it is unless I see them use magic and I can match the feel of it with what I felt at the riot site.”

Morgana slams her cup down.

“Find him, Mordred.”

“He can help us, Morgana! I truly wish you saw—”

“Oh, I see. This Emrys will side with Uther and Arthur. We can’t allow that. _We_ know what people like us need, not Emrys, not if he thinks _Pendragons_ are the way to go to help our people,” Morgana spits.

“And yet, you keep the name Pendragon,” Mordred says coldly. “I beg you to give Emrys a chance.”

“I need to know who he is. You swore your allegiance to me, so you will find him, and when you do, you will tell me.”

Morgana can feel her magic crackling on her fingertips. Mordred reaches for his drink. Morgana grabs his wrist. Her magic shocks him, and the spell takes hold. Mordred gasps.

“What have you done?”

“It’s just for security,” she says tensely. “No harm will come to you if you keep your word, Mordred. I promise you this.”

“Morgana! That’s – you’ve broken the code—”

“I’m no druid, Mordred. Your rules, your _code_ – none of that applies to me.”

Mordred bites back a reply. Morgana sits back and takes a long drink of her iced coffee. She knows she’s won this.

“Now. Is there anything else?”

“Emrys hasn’t come into his powers,” Mordred says calmly. “They’ll be really young, or something very dangerous and unusual if they’re older. But that magic… it was pure and wild.”

“I understand,” Morgana says curtly. “I’ve experienced this myself, Mordred.”

“Oh. I forgot. Forgive me,” Mordred mutters. He’s not asking but Morgana hears the question anyway.

“I was twenty, Mordred,” she says flatly. “It was extremely unpleasant. For Emrys’s sake, I hope they’re normal.”

“I could feel they’ve been doing magic their whole lives, though,” Mordred continues. He’s got a distant look in his eyes, like he’s searching his memory. Morgana lets him go on. “They were born with it, but they haven’t come into it? That can’t be right. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” Morgana agrees. She remembers first accidentally using magic around the age of fifteen or sixteen, but she didn’t think anything of it. Only at uni did it become a problem, and by age twenty, Morgana couldn’t deny what it was, in spite of how much it horrified her. She has Morgause to thank for saving her.

“I’ll keep working on it,” Mordred finally says. “It’ll be difficult, but Emrys’s magic is really unstable. I’m sure we’ll get another incident soon.”

Morgana smiles at him.

“You’re a little incredible, Mordred,” she says warmly. “Good work.”

The barista wanders over.

“When’s the meeting?” Morgause asks, adjusting her apron.

“I think eight tonight.”

“Where?”

“Let’s try the theater.”

Morgause looks shocked at first, but she nods. “I’ll put the sign out. Want anything else?”

Morgana shakes her head.

“I’ve got a few things to do before dinner. Uther’s insisting,” Morgana says. Morgause squeezes her shoulder reassuringly before returning behind the till. Morgana finishes her drink and gets up to leave.

“See you tonight, Mordred,” she says. He looks up. His eyes are ringed with gold. Morgana, knowing better than to interrupt the druid at work, hurries from the café.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

“You look like you’re falling asleep.”

Arthur’s head slides off his hand and almost hits his desk on the way down. He sits up and looks around. Leon’s standing in his doorway looking mildly concerned.

“Late night?” he asks, sitting across from Arthur.

“Yeah,” Arthur winces. He stretches and changes sitting positions.

“Should’ve saved the bars for the weekend, mate. Look what happened to Kay last time,” says Leon. “Those burn marks took forever to get off the walls.”

“Wasn’t like that, Leon. You know I don’t have time for going out anymore.”

“Right. Your secret mission,” he says coolly, sitting back. “Care to share?”

“Told you. Uther’s orders.”

“You need backup, Arthur. That’s the number one rule,” he says.

“I know but it’s not dangerous.”

“That’s not an excuse Arthur,” Leon says firmly.

“You’re just dying to know why I left the riot site early on Sunday,” Arthur says. Leon shrugs.

“I’m not denying that, but it’s a matter of safety, too,” Leon says. Arthur doesn’t say anything. He gets up and pours himself a fresh cup of coffee and starts pulling up files n his computer, but Leon’s still sitting there. Arthur sighs.

“Shut the door.”

“Yes, sir!”

Arthur rolls his eyes. Once the door clicks shut, he says,

“I’m undercover,” says Arthur, “in a theater group. I’m in a musical. Almost.”

Leon stares at him.

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. The group is run by people possibly connected to the magical insurgents,” Arthur pauses. “Uther has enough evidence to suspect they’re trying to go through the DeBois Repertory to get to the Underground.”

“That’s where the Gatehouse is supposed to be,” Leon realizes. “Shit. That’s big. You’re keeping an eye on them, yeah?”

“Not just that,” says Arthur. “Uther told me if I can find out where their nest is, he’ll give me the Commissioner post and sign over lawmaking power.”

Leon’s jaw drops.

“That’s _big_.”

“Yeah. No pressure, right?”

“But… what’s the catch?” Leon says. He’s frowning when Arthur looks up from the cast list. “Uther’s no friend to magic and he knows your intentions for the Enforcement program and for the magical community. He knows things won’t go his way if you do this.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Arthur murmurs. He shakes his head. “I can’t afford to think like that right now, Leon. If Uther’s got ulterior motives—,” Leon snorts and mutters something like _if?_ , “—then we’re going to deal with it after we’ve taken the insurgent cell down. They’re dangerous regardless of whatever Uther has planned.”

“True,” Leon concedes. “What are you doing now?”

“Background checks on all the cast members. At least a third of them are known Druid members, and there could be more,” says Arthur, handing Leon the list. “A bunch I don’t know anything about yet, and some don’t have any records other than the bare minimum – birth certificate, educational degrees or—”

“Wait. _Morgana’s_ running this?” Leon interrupts. He points at her name on the header of the cast list. “You said insurgents were doing this.”

Arthur sighs deeply.

“We’ve suspected her for a long time, Leon. We’re certain now,” says Arthur.

“Oh, wow,” Leon says softly. “That’s a lot.”

“See why I’ve been a bit out of it, then?” Arthur says. He turns back to the computer and searches for Mordred Greyson. Nothing but a birth certificate shows up, but he’s young enough to still be in secondary. Arthur lets it slide, crosses his name off, and moves on. He almost knocks over his coffee when he reads the next name.

“Something wrong?”

“No.”

“Who’s on your list?”

“Hey! Don’t—”

Leon snatches it away before Arthur can retaliate.

“Who is Merlin Ambrose?” Leon asks.

“He’s playing the lead,” says Arthur.

“Is he any good?”

“He’s incredible.”

“Ah. So it’s like that.”

“Like what? It’s not like anything,” Arthur scowls. “He’s Gaius’s nephew apparently.”

“That’s great and all, Arthur, but you’re very transparent sometimes,” Leon says. He drops the list on Arthur’s keyboard just as he searches Merlin’s name.

“Oh, shit,” says Arthur. He searches the name a second time, but he gets the same result – an error message. _No file found._ “He doesn’t exist.”

Arthur’s phone starts to ring. He has his meeting with Gaius in half an hour.

“ _Shit_. I’ve got to run,” says Arthur. He grabs his keys off the desk and swipes all his papers and files into his messenger bag. Leon stands abruptly.

“What about this Merlin guy?”

“There has to be a reason for it. I’ll keep digging,” Arthur says confidently, though he doesn’t feel nearly so sure.

“Let me if I can help in any way,” says Leon.

“Finish doing background checks for the people on this list. I’ve got rehearsal tonight, and all afternoon tomorrow,” says Arthur, “so I’ll be lucky if I get the chance to sleep.”

“Still writing the first set of reports?”

“Yes, and the site visit reports. Uther wants them for tomorrow morning’s council meeting,” Arthur says. His phone beeps again. “Keep this between us, right? I’ll see you Monday.”

“Run, Arthur! The old man doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Leon chuckles. He’s not lying. Arthur hurries to his car.

Gaius lives inside the Citadel, but his flat isn’t central. Arthur chooses to drive rather than to walk through the maze of palace passageways and stairwells. He runs a much slimmer chance of running into Morgana this way, at least. At a light he looks at the list again.

_Merlin Ambrose._

He can’t imagine why there’d be nothing. Usually if he finds nothing, the file has been wiped. It’s never nonexistent. Camelot’s records are almost impeccable. There’s always a footprint left behind even from a wiped file. As far as Arthur can tell, though, Merlin Ambrose simply doesn’t exist.

He inhales and it hurts a tiny bit. The light turns green. He drives on.

Arthur parks outside the nearest palace entrance to Gaius’s apartment and makes his way up. At the door Arthur raises his fist to knock. A voice very much not belonging to Gaius inside the flat makes him pause. Arthur swallows nervously and hesitates.

“The potion will help, Merlin,” Gaius insists.

“Suppressing it isn’t going to work,” Merlin snaps. “I’ve told you. I used to be able to keep it under control by suppressing it, but that doesn’t work anymore. It’s stronger than whatever I know how to do.”

“I can’t help you any other way.”

“There must be _something_. In all your books—”

“There’s nothing. There have been cases of magic being delayed, but this is an anomaly, even for those cases,” Gaius says. He sounds regretful.

“I should’ve never come here,” Merlin says, his voice muffled. “I should’ve gone somewhere else, out of Camelot.”

“Perhaps it’s not too late.”

“Do you think I should?”

“Merlin… there is something bad on the horizon,” Gaius says carefully. “People like Arthur want to make things right for people like us, but Uther is still in control. War, I fear, is inevitable, what with all the attacks.”

“I know,” Merlin says edgily. “I’m well aware, Gaius. You know why I came here at all.”

“Then perhaps—”

“I won’t leave, Gaius. Not yet. Here at least I can make sure my family’s safe,” says Merlin. Arthur hears footsteps behind the door. He looks around for a place to hide. “You said the Underground’s a problem, right?”

“If the Priestesses get a hold of it, yes.”

“Where is it?”

“No one knows—”

“Gaius.”

Gaius pauses. “All the entrances have been sealed up,” he says. “Uther ensured it. I… oversaw much of it. But I can tell you that if the Priestesses got their hands on what’s down there, it won’t be good for the rest of us.”

“So what if we stop them?”

“They can’t be stopped,” Gaius says almost too quietly for Arthur to hear. He presses his ear to the door. “Merlin, they’re the two most powerful magical people in Camelot, possibly all of Albion. They are angry and hateful. They have like-minded people on their side, and we haven’t any idea how many of them there are. You cannot beat them when you don’t know how many they are or where to attack them.”

“What if we can? What if—”

“You can’t, Merlin,” Gaius cuts him off. “Leave it to the Enforcement officials.”

Merlin grumbles something incoherent.

“I understand, Merlin,” Gaius says gently, “but that’s just the way things are.”

“At the rate I’m going, they’ll be hunting me down, too,” Merlin says. “I’m a monster, Gaius. I’m a bloody freak.”

“Merlin.”

“Thanks for the help, Gaius.”

“Try taking the potion.”

Merlin doesn’t respond. Arthur flees from the door and tries to walk back to it as casually as possible, but he still goes too quickly. He doesn’t get to knock. Merlin opens the door open. He stops mid-step.

“Oh. Arthur. What are you doing here?” Merlin frowns. Arthur tries not to look at his red-rimmed eyes, but he fails.

“I need to talk to Gaius about something.”

“Ah. Well, I’ll be going, then,” Merlin says, sliding past Arthur out the door.

“Merlin?” Arthur calls out. He stops and turns toward him. “If you’re still here when I’m done, I’ll give you a lift to rehearsal. It’s starting to rain out there.”

“I… okay. Thanks,” Merlin says, some of the tense lines in his body finally softening. Arthur offers him a smile before ducking into Gaius’s flat and shutting the door.

“Arthur,” Gaius says. He’s sitting in his chair by the window looking exhausted. “Need I ask if you were listening to any of my conversation with Merlin? Or have you finally broken that bad habit?”

Arthur says nothing.

“What I heard is of no importance to me, Gaius,” Arthur says. “I haven’t got a lot of time to talk.”

“Yes. The musical rehearsals. I’m happy to hear of your return to the stage,” Gaius chuckles. “You’ve always been a very talented performer.”

“Thanks,” he says, looking away, “but you know me. I’m just keeping busy.”

“Of course.”

“Can we talk about the Great Purge, then?”

“What about it?”

“Why did it happen, for starters?” Arthur asks. Gaius immediately looks uncomfortable, like Arthur just shoved a lemon down his throat.

“Your mother’s death was partly due to magic, Arthur,” says Gaius. “Uther has said as much.”

“But… that can’t possibly be the whole reason.”

“Not entirely, but that’s most of it,” says Gaius grimly. “He passed laws cracking down on magical offenders. He was trying to find the sorceress who was involved in Ygraine’s death. It escalated.”

“That’s an understatement, Gaius,” Arthur says disbelievingly.

“Perhaps,” Gaius muses. “Uther was heartbroken. He reacted without restraint.”

“Did he find her?”

“In a way,” Gaius says. “The woman’s name was Nimueh. She was the Gatekeeper to the Underground. Uther found her, but she’d blocked herself in with layers and layers of wards. So Uther sealed her in. That marked the end of the Purge, unofficially, but things didn’t calm down for a long time.”

Arthur doesn’t respond for a few moments. _That’s who they’re trying to find?_

“She couldn’t be alive after all this time, could she?” he asks.

“It’s not impossible,” Gaius admits. “Nimueh was a High Priestess of the Old Religion, a true druid. The earth would serve her, if she required it.”

“There aren’t many true druids left, are there?”

“No. Uther killed most of them, and the rest ran for the hills,” says Gaius. “They fared better than the dragonlords. They’re all certainly dead. The druids could live on, but we’ll never know, I suppose.”

“Who were they? The dragonlords?”

“Kin to dragons,” Gaius says with a small smile. “Once upon a time dragons lived in Albion alongside humans quite peacefully. The dragonlords were humans with special magic that allowed them to control and communicate with dragons. They acted as intermediaries for the rest of us.”

“Did you know any?”

“Dragons? Or dragonlords?”

“Either.”

“Both, yes,” Gaius says. “It was a very different world, then. My friends… are long gone. I chose a side, and I’ve paid for it.”

“Gaius—”

“Let an old man mourn, Arthur,” Gaius sighs. He looks so small, hunched and gazing out the window at the orange sunset. Arthur stays silent until Gaius speaks again. “People with magic have no rights here. The laws are a façade. And yet the city is a forward-thinking place compared to the outer edge of Camelot.”

“Like Ealdor?”

Gaius looks at him curiously. “Exactly like Ealdor. How did you know?”

“I read about the most recent attack,” says Arthur. “I’m still trying to understand how something so terrible can be so… commonplace.”

“Not everyone is as pure-hearted as you, Arthur,” Gaius says. “Others see them as monsters, as dangerous animals, even. Many want them dead still or at least locked up.”

“They’re the bastards who attack them,” Arthur nods.

“And the insurgents are angry. They are afraid, Arthur. They want peace, but they’re desperate. They don’t see a way to equality at this point other than through drastic means,” Gaius explains. “I can’t tell you much else, but that is my understanding of their logic.”

“We learned who owned the flat where those rogue Druid meetings were taking place,” says Arthur. “John Collins, a sorcerer who died in the Purge. He was only twenty. His only surviving family member is his mother, Mary, but after the riot she disappeared. We’ve been searching all week for her, but it looks like she’s left Camelot.”

Arthur pauses, but Gaius says nothing in response.

“Is it safe to assume the insurgents are connected with aggregators from the Purge on the magical side?” says Arthur.

“Yes,” says Gaius. “I remember John’s execution. The boy was innocent but for being connected with terrible people. He was a scapegoat.”

Arthur digs his fingernails into his palms.

“Will you tell Uther this?” Gaius asks. Arthur stands up.

“Only when we have definitive proof of the connection,” says Arthur. “We’ll keep looking until then.”

Arthur makes to leave, but one more question holds him back.

“What about everyone else?” Arthur asks.

“I don’t understand, sire,” Gaius says. Arthur cringes at the formality.

“The rest of the magical community in Camelot. I’m in contact with the Druid Group leaders almost constantly these days but they are impossible to read sometimes. What do they want?”

“Peace, Arthur. A just Camelot.”

“Do they believe the Priestesses can give it to them?”

Gaius shakes his head. “If anything, some hold out hope for a prophesized savior. He’s a story from the true druids, but some still believe.”

“Who is he?”

“Emrys is what the druids call them,” says Gaius. “I know very little about the legend, but it is said the coming of Emrys is a time of upheaval leading to proper peace between the rulers of Albion and the land – and magic.”

“I’ll look into it,” Arthur says. “Thank you for your help, Gaius.”

Arthur leaves the flat and closes the door quietly behind him. He walks down the dark hall until he reaches spiral staircase. He almost trips over Merlin sitting on the bottom steps.

“Merlin!” he shouts. Merlin jumps to his feet. Arthur steadies himself on the railing. “You almost sent me to my death.”

“Sorry,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Are you always so dramatic?”

“Am I? I don’t think so.”

“You were the other day during the song,” Merlin goes on.

“That’s her character, Merlin!” Arthur groans. “I thought you’re familiar with the story.”

“I am! You were overdoing it,” Merlin says stubbornly. “You’re right, she _is_ a drama queen, but you just needed to pull it back just a little. It was bordering on burlesque.”

“What if I was going for that?”

Merlin gives him a strange look before bursting into laughter.

“You wound me, Merlin,” Arthur says, unlocking his car. He opens the door for Merlin. “Get in, you idiot. It’s pouring.”

“Fine, fine,” Merlin says, still grinning. Arthur starts the car. The rain pounding on the roof of the car calms Arthur. “So. Why were you talking to Gaius about dragonlords?”

“Eavesdropping is rude, Merlin,” Arthur snaps.

“You’re one to talk.”

Arthur purses his lips.

“How much did you hear?” he asks.

“Only if you tell me how much you heard,” Merlin shoots back.

“Are we keeping these secrets?”

“Is it so important?”

“Yes,” Arthur says.

“Will you have to kill me if I tell someone?”

“Very slowly and painfully,” he says as seriously as possible. He looks over and sees Merlin’s smile fall a fraction. “Got it?”

“The feeling is mutual, you know,” says Merlin.

“Fair enough.”

“You were talking about the Purge, why it started, the dragonlords and stuff,” Merlin says. “I listened to most of it.”

“Merlin! Some of those were state secrets!”

“I’m great at keeping secrets?” he says with a weak laugh. Arthur groans. “Why were you asking, anyway?”

“Guess.”

“You’re trying to find the insurgents?” Merlin asks.

“Brilliant deduction. You guessed my day job.”

“Oh, shut it,” says Merlin. “Your turn.”

“Erm. Something with magic?” Arthur says. Merlin stills. “A problem, it sounded like. I… it sounded like you didn’t want anyone to know. I promise your secret is safe with me.”

“Arthur—,” Merlin cuts himself off. Arthur turns to him when he reaches a red light.

“You’re not a monster, Merlin,” Arthur says. Merlin looks at him, all wide eyes and trembling lips. He looks so damn _tired_. “You’re not. Maybe… you’re going to do something great. Maybe your magic is special.”

“You sound _so_ confident.”

“What do I know about magic?” Arthur says derisively. “Nothing, really. I’m trying to learn, but it’s not easy. But I deal with bad people all the time. I know what monsters are like. They hurt people. They put others in harm’s way. From what I heard… you’re the opposite of that.”

The light changes. Arthur tears his gaze away from Merlin’s profile and drives in total silence for a long while. Only when they’ve pulled off the Ring Road and started going into the DeBois Quarter does Merlin make any response. He tries to hide wiping at his face, but Arthur sees anyway. He doesn’t mention it.

“I want to help find them,” Merlin says.

“Who?” Arthur asks, confused.

“The insurgents. The Priestesses. Hell, whoever’s causing this mess,” says Merlin. Arthur pulls the car off the road. “What the hell?”

Arthur stops the engine. The rain’s pounding even harder on the car, falling in waves down the windows.

“You’re a civilian, Merlin. I can’t involve you in this,” says Arthur.

“I can help!”

“How? By the looks of it, you can’t control your own magic!”

“No, but – you get anonymous tips, right?”

“Right…,” Arthur says. He turns in his seat to look at Merlin.

“I hear things at the factory where I work,” Merlin says. He leans closer, as though someone will hear them talking, but it paralyzes Arthur. He hopes Merlin doesn’t see the flush that overtakes his face in the dim lighting of the car. “Some men sure sounded like they were with the insurgents. They talked about the Network, the Priestesses, and – something else.”

“What?”

“Nothing important,” he says hastily, “but I’d say that checks most of your boxes, right?”

“Yes,” Arthur admits. “I suppose you can give me information you happen to hear at the factory. We’ve suspected the Darkling Quarter as the location of the insurgent nest for a long time.”

“Great! I mean – not really, great, but—”

“You can’t go looking for them, Merlin,” Arthur says sternly. “It’s not safe.”

“Well… what if you come with me?”

“Me?”

“You know. Scope the place out.”

“I’d need an official reason to do that,” says Arthur.

“What if you’re just hanging out with me, going for a walk, and we just happen to end up where there might be insurgents lurking about?”

“That’s a disaster waiting to happen, Merlin.”

“You can have backup waiting.”

“Why would I bring back-up for a – a date?”

“Getaway car? In case I turn out to be a bloodthirsty cannibal who lures my victims in with my boyish charm?” Merlin suggests, fluttering his eyelashes. Arthur does his best to look at him like he’s mad, but it’s a complete failure. Merlin laughs. “You know, you’re all right.”

“I thought I was a prat.”

“You’re all right for a prat.”

“I guess you are, too, for a total idiot.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Merlin takes Arthur’s hand. Arthur’s heart nearly stops when he does that, but he’s just turning Arthur’s wrist toward him and checking the time on his watch. Merlin releases him just as quickly.

“We should go,” he says. “I don’t want to be late again.”

“Morgana was pretty pissed the other day,” says Arthur.

“Is she always like that?”

“Generally.”

“Great,” Merlin mutters.

“I could… pick you up? So you’re not late anymore? If you really want to avoid her wrath, that is,” Arthur says before he can stop himself. He tries not to visibly cringe at how pathetic he sounds. Merlin’s grinning sunnily when Arthur risks looking at him, and that’s worth any cringe-worthy behavior.

“You sure that’s not out of your way?”

“Nah. I get off work a while before this,” says Arthur, even though it _is_ still out of his way. “I’m happy to save you from my evil sister on the warpath.”

Merlin laughs. Arthur’s smile is forced when he realizes how close to home his words hit.

“There’s one thing,” Arthur says as he starts the car again. Merlin sobers quickly. “I needed to run background checks on everyone in the production, for Morgana’s safety or some other bullshit. When I looked you up, there was no file on you.”

“Er… that’s weird, right? What does that mean?”

“According to our records, Merlin Ambrose doesn’t exist,” Arthur says wearily. “That’s a sign of a fabricated identity.”

“But that’s my name. That’s been my name all my life,” Merlin frowns. “That’s what my papers say.”

“They’d still say it if they were fabricated.”

“But—”

“I’m not going to do anything about it for now, Merlin. I promise you that. But I wanted to ask if you had any explanation for this,” Arthur says.

“No. I don’t,” Merlin says hollowly. “I haven’t got a damn clue why that’d be the case.”

Arthur parks at the end of the block. They walk slowly through the rain to the Repertory. He can hear the sounds of the rest of the cast warming up. Morgana isn’t going to be happy with them. Arthur goes to open the door when Merlin grabs his arm and pulls Arthur back. He touches the rust and paint in the middle of the door.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asks.

“Don’t you see it? The symbol?”

“There’s nothing there, Merlin.”

“There is! Hang on.”

He digs in his pocket and produces a pen. He tries to write on his palm but his hands are still wet. Arthur gives him his hand. Merlin gives him a confused look.

“Just draw it on me. I won’t kill you for it.”

“Good to know,” mutters Merlin. He draws with sure, long strokes, the pen ticking his palm. Merlin’s other hand holding him steady is like a blanket of hot coals on his skin. Arthur itches to pull away and simultaneously bring Merlin even closer to him.

“There.”

Arthur takes his hand back.

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah. What is it?”

“It’s an old druid symbol. The triskelion,” Arthur explains. He pulls Merlin away from the door and lowers his voice. “It’s the symbol the insurgents use to denote a meeting.”

“Does that mean there’ll be one here? At the theater?” Merlin asks.

“Maybe. We’ve found ones all over the city, not always associated with a meeting point,” Arthur explains. “We haven’t figured out their system yet, but as far as we know, it’s just a call to arms for everyone who can see it.”

“But not all people with magic can see it?”

“Usually just Druid Group members, but I’ve heard the insurgents use special ones. They all use similar magic. I don’t understand it myself.”

“I’m not a member, though. I hardly know more about magic than you do, other than what’s instinct,” Merlin says, shaking his head. “This doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Maybe… you should probably let me help you.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Arthur admits.

“Boys!” Morgana shouts. She throws the doors open. Arthur instinctively jumps back from Merlin, even though he was much warmer standing so close to him. “Don’t make us wait on you any longer or I’ll boot you both from the show.”

Arthur and Merlin utter hasty apologies and run inside after Morgana where the chorus has already started singing _“No One Mourns the Wicked._ ”


	6. Dancing Through Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Dancing Through Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p6rqbzuOFtA)

**Merlin**

 

“Everybody _out!_ ” Morgana shouts. “We have work to do and all of you need to get to bed for some beauty rest if you’re going to survive the next few weeks.”

“Er. When exactly is the production?”

Morgana glares at the girl who asked.

“We’ll let you know when we’ve decided,” says Morgana with a threat of death in her eyes. “Rehearsal is over! Scram.”

Merlin takes Arthur by the elbow and swings him around the corner.

“What the—”

“Wait until Gwen leaves,” he whispers, nodding at Gwen and Morgana talking, “so no one sees us just sitting in the car looking shifty.”

“Right. That’s good thinking,” Arthur blinks. He sounds genuinely surprised. Merlin wants to roll his eyes at him, but there’s no point now. Somehow things have changed between him and Arthur in the last few hours. They stayed close during the whole rehearsal and, while they kept on bickering, since Arthur’s refusing to listen to Merlin about being overly-dramatic in his singing, it was more like banter and less like actual arguing.

The theater doors open. Morgana and Gwen are talking as they walk to the door. Outside, it’s still pouring.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” Gwen asks.

“I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve got so far,” says Morgana, sounding uncharacteristically soft.

“Lance is helping me with the sets,” Gwen says. “I’ll show you what we have done.”

“Great,” Morgana says. The tension is back in her words, her body language. “Take care, Gwen.”

She hurries into the rain, and Morgana shuts the door. She turns around and spots Merlin and Arthur loitering down the hall.

“I thought I told everyone to go,” she snaps.

“Calm down, Morgana,” Arthur says lightly. “We’re just waiting to see if the rain lets up.”

“It won’t. Make a run for it while you can.”

Morgana crosses her arms and taps her pointed shoe on the floor while Merlin peels himself from the wall and pulls Arthur by his sleeve down the hall. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly touching him, even in the tiniest ways, but Merlin can’t seem to help himself. They cut across the street and down to where Arthur’s car is parked. Merlin’s shivering when he gets into the passenger seat. Arthur runs the engine and turns the heat on low.

“How long do we wait?” he asks, teeth chattering. He crosses his arms and tries to warm up, but his clothes are soaked.

“As long as we have to,” Arthur says, “so you might as well get comfortable.”

Arthur looks over at him.

“I can drive you home,” he offers. “You don’t have to stay.”

“Nah. What’s there for me to do there?”

Arthur gives Merlin a gentle, beautiful smile that almost stops Merlin’s heart.

_Shit._

“Hang on. I might have some extra clothes,” Arthur says. He turns in his seat and starts rummaging through things in the back. Merlin grabs his shoulder – there he goes again with the touching thing! Arthur stills and looks up at him, still half-turned toward the back of the car.

“It’s fine. Wait.”

Merlin shuts his eyes. He pulls back from Arthur’s warm shoulder and casts the simple spell. It’s more of a wish, a thought with direction, than a spell, which should have a concrete incantation. It’s all he can do, really, and it suffices. Merlin opens his eyes. His clothes are dry and he’s warm all over. He beams at Arthur who looks equal parts surprised and impressed.

“You know, it took years for Morgana to be comfortable doing magic like that around me,” Arthur says.

“I never show anyone my magic,” Merlin says. “I’m… not sure why I let you see.”

“Oh. Er. I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s fine. I’m just surprised,” he says. “It took me almost a whole year to show my mate Will, and he’d been living with me that whole time.”

“Is Will your boyfriend?” Arthur asks.

“Nah. He’s like my brother, really,” Merlin explains. “His parents died when we were really young, so he came to live with my family. We’d just settled into Ealdor. I was five. That’s why I think it’s weird it took me a whole year to show him.”

“I see.”

“I trust him more than anyone, other than my parents,” Merlin says. He pauses. “You two wouldn’t get along so well.”

“Why’s that?”

“He kind of hates everything about you,” Merlin says with a laugh. “Can’t stand anything to do with your family. Hates Enforcement officials, too. He thinks they’re full of crap and totally corrupt.”

“That’s not true!” Arthur says instantly. “We go through rigorous training and value checks before even starting work.”

“So, what, just because a guy passed a few tests he can’t be corrupted by power?” Merlin shorts. “Nice, Arthur.”

“No! I mean, yes, he can, but—”

“I know _you’re_ not like that, and I bet the others on your team are good people,” Merlin says, “but back in Ealdor, no one is like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, people like me are dying left and right every other day, and no one’s doing a damn thing about it,” Merlin says. He can feel old, practiced thoughts rise up and make his blood warm to the argument.

“That’s not true,” Arthur says. “I see the reports the officials file. They get plenty of complaints and follow through on most of them.”

“Aye, but those are just the dire ones. We know they can’t do shit for most of us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means unless you’re bleeding out and you’ve got an eyewitness putting some non-magical thugs at the scene, no one’s going to hear you out,” Merlin sighs. He forces his body to relax a little and slouches in the leather seat of the car.

“That’s absurd, Merlin. The law clearly states that we have to investigate—”

“Arthur!” Merlin shouts. “They don’t give a damn what the law says! They do whatever _they_ want, and for them, it’s not worth their time unless it’s something big.”

“Unless someone’s dying?”

“Yeah, or it’s got to do with the insurgents or something,” Merlin says.

“There’s a lot of activity around Ealdor,” Arthur says.

“Yep.”

“They cause most of the explosive and publically violent events,” Arthur continues.

“Yep,” Merlin says. “That’s part of why Will thinks you lot are useless.”

“Because we haven’t stopped them yet?”

“Maybe here, yeah, but back home, it’s because no one’s bothering to go after the root of the problem,” says Merlin. He’s starting to wish he never listened to Will’s late-night rants about _the man_. “They’re doing all that shit because they’re angry and fed up with being seen as animals by every non-magical person in the village. They want change. Like Gaius told you, that’s the only way they think they can get it.”

The sky shatters and pours even more heavily on the roof of Arthur’s car. Arthur stares straight ahead, his hands hanging off the lower part of the steering wheel, his fingertips white and tense.

“It’s not easy to go after them, Merlin,” Arthur finally says.

“Why not?” Merlin fires.

“They could be anyone. People with magic have tells. They wear Druid badges. They _use_ magic. The people committing the hate crimes could be any Sam or Jane on the street,” Arthur says quietly. “It’s impossible to find them.”

“Don’t you keep a record of them?”

“Sure, but that’s only if we catch them.”

“Which is, like, never,” Merlin says sullenly.

“Eleven percent of the time,” Arthur supplies. “That’s unnaturally low, considering how long this has been going on. The number of repeat offenders is so small.”

“They’re murderers.”

“Yes.”

“It’s like they want a war.”

“Sometimes it sounds like it,” Arthur agrees, “and they’re probably not the only ones.”

They fall into pensive silence for a long time, watching the rain steadily fall. Merlin keeps an eye on the theater, but no one enters or exists the place. The lights, as far as he can see, are off inside, but Morgana and Morgause never left the building.

“Maybe they took the back door?” Arthur suggests when Merlin mentions this.

“Ugh. Maybe.”

“That’s why we usually have more people on a stake-out,” Arthur mumbles. He scrubs his face. “Let’s give it another ten and then call it a night.”

“Sounds grand.”

Merlin tilts his head back and lets the sound of the rain falling wash over him. He’s starting to doze when he feels the car engine turn on.

“What?” he says blearily.

“We’re going. There’s no sign of anyone,” says Arthur. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, all right.”

Arthur breaks the silence once they’re on the Ring Road.

“I wish we could go after the people committing the hate crimes,” he says. “That’s what I want to change. The hate they feel.”

“I know,” Merlin murmurs. “That’s going to take a long time to change.”

“You can thank my father for that,” Arthur says bitterly.

“Why is _he_ ordering all this, then?” Merlin asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Uther wants you to find the insurgents and stop the fighting, right? What did he say he’d give you if you did?”

“The seat of Commissioner of Magical Enforcement,” Arthur says, gripping the steering wheel a little harder. Merlin can hear the longing in his voice. “He’d be giving me free reign over the whole department, and lawmaking abilities.”

“I don’t get it, then. Why does he want peace?”

“My father isn’t a monster,” Arthur frowns. “He wants what’s best for Camelot.”

Merlin doesn’t respond at first.

“Spit it out, Merlin,” Arthur snaps as he drives them sharply off the Ring Road into the Darkling Quarter.

“Why isn’t he going after the guys killing magical people? Why isn’t _he_ trying to fix the hate? Why have _you_ got to be the one to do it instead of the king?” Merlin bursts. He’s been holding these questions back for years, if he’s being honest with himself.

“Because there’s sorcery being used to kill tens at a time! They’re the immediate threat,” says Arthur firmly. “My father is a tactician. He knows what needs to be done right now, and that’s fighting those using dark magic.”

“Magic isn’t inherently bad or good,” Merlin says. He takes a steadying breath. “People are angry and afraid. Surely you know that.”

“Surely.”

“People with magic are, too.”

“I know. I’m in contact with the Druid Group almost constantly,” Arthur says. Merlin almost asks _really?_ Instead, he says,

“They’re scared of the insurgents, but they’re also scared to leave their houses. It’s better here, but back home, in places like Ealdor, if you’ve got magic, if you carry a Druid badge or if someone sees you light a cigarette without a lighter – leaving your house means risking death, if a stranger is hateful enough. We’ve got tons of Enforcement officials, but how can you say they’re doing their job when there’s so much fear?”

Arthur stays silent. He pulls up to the curb in front of the apartment building.

“I don’t understand magic, Merlin,” Arthur states. “I’m aware of that, but I understand people, and I get that things need to change.”

“Right. They do,” Merlin says, “starting with _you_.”

Arthur turns to look at Merlin. He unhooks his seatbelt and unlocks his door.

“If you want to help people like me, you’ve got to learn what it’s like to be like us,” Merlin states. “Think like us, not like a tactician. That’s the only way you stand a chance of making things better, Arthur, Commissioner thing or not.”

“Merlin, wait.”

“No. I’m going to bed. Go sleep on it.”

“Wait! You said – were you the witness? In the last Ealdor incident?”

Merlin freezes as he’s about to shut the door to Arthur’s car. He’s getting soaked again in the relentless rain.

“You said that about the cigarettes,” Arthur says, taking a deep breath, as though he’s the one in the cold rain having his breath taken away by the wind or some prat’s unexpected words. “That’s what drew attention to the magic users in that case. I read about it in the local paper.”

“I have to go, Arthur.”

“Merlin.”

“Good night. See you tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here at two,” Arthur says. Merlin watches worry lines appear on Arthur’s forehead before he turns away and shuts the door. Arthur doesn’t wait for him to get into the building; he drives away almost as soon as he’s on the steps.

Inside, Lance is dozing on the couch. Merlin turns off the television and climbs into the shower. He soaks there for a long while, basking in the warmth and steam. He slips into bed, but sleep eludes him. He digs through his memory and lets a little magic loose. He plays one of his mother’s favorite recordings from her theater days – of a woman she often performed with, someone she was close to until just before the Great Purge. Merlin lets the tones of her light soprano, rife with anguish and feeling, lull him to sleep.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

She waits for Morgause under the stage after kicking out the cast, examining the ritual space they set up at the last meeting. Morgana took extra care to take an alternative route of the building.

“I have a feeling your brother and our lead are going to be necking and moaning in his car like a couple of teenagers for a while,” Morgause said after Merlin and Arthur left the night before, a vaguely disapproving frown on her face. “We ought to avoid them.”

Sure enough, Arthur’s car remained parked down the street for over an hour.

“Does he suspect?” Morgause asked.

“I don’t know,” Morgana replied. “He has no reason to think this is anything more than an elaborate distraction for me, but I will not deny Arthur is a smart man.”

“But he’s also a terrible liar,” says Morgause.

“Very true.”

The meeting went on well and they set up everything they needed in order to break through the first physical barrier. Morgause, upon closing he previous night’s meeting, declared they would make the first attempt after the next rehearsal.

The next day Morgana is profoundly excited for the afternoon and evening’s events to unfold.

“Are you certain your plan will not fail?” Morgause asks as they settle into their directorial seats and watch the rest of the cast file in. “We cannot risk any hitches or snags once the rehearsal ends.”

“Absolutely,” she says with conviction. She’s had this particular plan in her back pocket for well over a year now and is looking forward to letting it play out.

“How are our costumes coming along?”

“Beautifully. Gwen’s outdone herself,” Morgana replies. “Her boyfriend is a very good artist. The sets look incredible.”

“Sister.”

Morgana knows what’s coming. She waits as long as possible to respond.

“What is it?”

“Gwen isn’t your friend,” Morgause states. “We both saw how poorly she knew you all those years ago, how badly she treated you. She lied and said terrible things.”

“She didn’t know better,” Morgana frowns. “She’s learned.”

“She still is not your friend, Morgana,” she snaps. “Gwen is working for us for this play but ultimately she is no more a friend to us than Arthur, and she is just as likely to be caught in the crossfire. Is that clear?”

“It is.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Morgause scoffs. “I know you too well.”

“Yes, you do,” she says, allowing hardness in her voice. “I’m going to go make a call. Get them warmed up.”

Morgana sweeps out of the hall just as Merlin and Arthur wander through the doors. She ignores their feeble greetings, though she doesn’t miss the tension between them. Morgana doesn’t think twice about it. Hell, the best part about their casting _is_ the tension between Merlin and Arthur. Elena is talented and lovely and certainly looks the part, but she’s clearly meant for greener pastures populated with horses.

She finds Gwaine’s number in her contacts list and is about to hit send when the main entrance doors open wide and the man himself strides down the hall in extremely flattering jeans, rough boots, and a soft Henley that makes him all the more delectable and attractive, even to Morgana. She smiles coquettishly at him.

“Glad you could make it,” Morgana says, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Your hours are killing me,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not going to be able to make any weekday practices.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re a man of many talents.”

Gwaine grins.

“So. What is it you need me to do?”

“You know Arthur, yes? My brother?”

“Better than you think.”

Morgana grins even more widely.

“Excellent. I want you to keep him distracted,” Morgana says. “In fact, go in there and make a scene. Wow them with a grand entrance, and make sure everyone is drooling over you.”

“Sounds like fun,” Gwaine says. “Doesn’t sound too hard, does it?”

“Not at all,” Morgana says, looking him up and down once more for good measure. “There is one more thing – I need this place cleared out with no chance of any of the cast coming back here after rehearsal until tomorrow.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Take them out. Bring them to a bar, and make sure they stay there as late as possible.”

“You mean _my_ bar,” Gwaine says. He sounds irritated. “Look, you know I don’t do that. People come and go, but I don’t do the special treatment bullshit. If they want special treatment, they have to earn it.”

“I think you’re forgetting why you’re no longer a homeless drunk who dances and fights for money on the streets in the craphole of Camelot anymore,” Morgana snarls. She grabs him by the front of his shirt. “You are mine, Gwaine. You will do as I say, or I will rip this shiny red carpet of yours right out from under you.”

Gwaine carefully pries Morgana’s fingers away from him.

“I get it. You own me. You could do worse things to me.”

“Consider this me calling in the favor,” says Morgana.

“Will that be all, your highness?” Gwaine says as she starts to walk away. Morgana pauses and pretends to consider something useless in her mind. She looks back over her shoulder.

“For now.”

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

Merlin, naturally, stands beside Arthur in their vocal line-up. Their ranges are rather similar, though Arthur’s is slightly wider, which Morgause still finds fascinating in spite of all the bitterness and anger she constantly directs at him.

“Have you been having private lessons with Morgause?” Arthur asks Merlin.

“Yeah,” Merlin sighs. “It’s been a bit tough to make them, because of work.”

He unconsciously touches his arm, still cut up and bruised from his first days. Arthur forces himself to look away.

“Have you?” Merlin asks after a while.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Arthur blurts, turning to face Merlin. He angles his body slightly away from the rest of the chorus and Morgause, who’s fussing over the speakers. “I want… I just want to make things right and help make peace. _This_ is what I feel I’m meant to do.”

“Sing in a musical?” Merlin asks flatly.

“Don’t be an idiot. You know what I mean.”

“It’s really not so simple.”

“Isn’t it? You’re limited here by who you are, and in a way so am I,” Arthur whispers urgently. “Uther’s always breathing down my neck and damn it all if I’m not still trying to make him proud, even if he doesn’t like how I’m doing it. Whether he likes it or not, everything left behind by the Purge and all that crap has to give at some point.”

“That’s… true.”

“I promise I’ll do whatever I can to fix this,” Arthur says, and he feels the promise reverberate in his chest, settling in beside his vital organs. He clears his throat. Now, the hard part. “I, uh, could use your help, Merlin, if you’re still willing.”

“You’re a prat,” Merlin mutters, “but all right. Just to make sure you don’t fuck things up worse by accident because you didn’t know something obvious.”

“Like what?”

“Like… the fact that people with magic sneeze rainbows.”

Arthur snorts.

“Do they also shit piles of gold?”

“We’re not leprechauns, Arthur. Have some respect,” Merlin says, suddenly serious. “Potatoes are gold where I come from. That’s why I’m hoarding potatoes, since you’ve got so many of them in your big-city groceries.”

Arthur laughs a full-bodied laugh, throwing is head back and all. Merlin joins in, and then they’re surrounded by a glaring chorus with a very annoyed Morgause staring them down. Arthur inhales sharply and, when the quiet settles, realizes just how loud they were. Merlin shrinks a little beside him. Arthur edges closes and bumps against his shoulder reassuringly.

“Are you finished, children?”

“You’re not that much older than us, Morgause,” Arthur grumbles.

“I’m still in charge. Now, let’s get started.”

The doors open wide and – _fuck_. Gwaine Anderson walks down the aisle.

“I’d say I’m sorry I’m late, but I’m not,” he says breezily, climbing onto the stage – _those jeans are_ very _well-fitting on his arse, Jesus Christ_ – and striding to Merlin’s other side. Arthur glances at Merlin and finds he’s staring like a slack-jawed idiot at Gwaine.

“Thanks for joining us,” Morgause says sourly. “Everyone, this is Gwaine. He’ll be our Fiyero.”

“I’ve got a shit work schedule so I can only make the weekend practices,” he says, sounding almost apologetic, but Arthur knows he’s not at all sorry, yet again. Gwaine doesn’t do _sorry_.

Arthur is in a bit of a daze through the warm-ups. He keeps glancing off-stage a few times and watching Gwen bustling about with various props in her arms. Once Merlin elbows him quite hard – “Ow! Your elbows are like knives, Merlin!” “Shut up, Arthur! We’re still singing here!” – and jolts him back to attention when he’s particularly spacey. After that, though, Arthur can feel Merlin’s closeness on his skin, practically raising the hairs on his arms that certainly were not so sensitized before. When the chorus breaks up to run through Fiyero’s entrance and _Dancing Through Life_ , Arthur can’t stop himself from brushing the back of his hand against Merlin’s – though it’s so brief, so utterly fleeting that it can’t be anything more than an accident to anyone but him.

Gwaine sees, though. Bloody Gwaine gives him a look and a wink before throwing an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and dragging him to the other side of the stage. Arthur stares at them for a total of three seconds before Morgana starts shouting orders.

“Arthur! Get off the stage! We’re running through with Elena first,” she yells.

He stalks through the curtains and settles on a box in on the side against the wall. He pulls his legs close to his chest and lets his arms hang loosely as the music starts and he watches from the sidelines.

“You know Morgana’s toying with you.”

Arthur almost jumps out of his skin. _Why the hell am I so twitchy these days?_

“Gwen,” he breathes when he sees her slightly concerned, more than slightly beautiful face looking down at where he sits. “Hello. Thank you, but I know. She’s having a good time, I’m sure.”

“Oh, yes,” Gwen says with a small smile. “They both are.”

“I’m honestly surprised Morgause is still hanging around her,” Arthur murmurs.

“Me, too.”

“I’m happy to play along,” Arthur shrugs. _I don’t want your pity._

“Then why do you look like someone stole your puppy?” Gwen asks, sitting on the box beside him. She looks on at the scene unfolding. It looks beautiful with the few set pieces she’s added to their practice. The smoothness of the run is proof that the choreography is coming along wonderfully.

“Ah,” she says after a while. “Because someone did. Merlin, then?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Arthur says, though there’s a tremor in his voice he notices too late and can’t conceal. Gwen smiles at him knowingly. “He’s just someone I know through this stupid play. That’s all. We essentially work together.”

“Arthur,” Gwen says gently, “I have eyes, and ears. Whatever you were talking about before you started laughing like a couple of idiot boys wasn’t a casual matter.”

“No,” he allows. “It wasn’t at all.”

“I see Merlin a lot, you know,” says Gwen. “I know you drive him here every time there’s practice and I know you bring him home. Thank you, for that, by the way. He… worries me sometimes.”

“I do often wonder if there’s something wrong with his brain,” Arthur jokes. She doesn’t laugh or even scold him for saying something so totally wrong and insensitive. Gwen grips his forearm and squeezes.

“I know you do,” she says softly. “I’m glad.”

They watch the scene a little longer.

“The new guy is good,” she comments. Arthur says nothing. “Very good, actually. He looks great out there with Elena and Merlin.”

“I suppose.”

Merlin and Elena awkwardly dance around each other in the ball scene while the speakers blast the instrumental interlude. On the side, Mordred/Boq and Kara/Nessa look on, holding hands behind their backs where really no one but Arthur and Gwen, off-stage, can see.

The song comes to a close. Morgana calls for a ten-minute break and shouts for Gwen. She gives Arthur an apologetic smile and runs out to meet Morgana. Arthur turns his attention back to Merlin and Gwaine, who are standing near the middle of the stage, chatting animatedly. Gwaine laughs and flips his hair as he throws his hair back. Arthur resists the urge to throw a hard object at him in response. Merlin, the idiot, is laughing and watching Gwaine with a look of pure joy and excitement, his face slightly flushed in the way that Arthur finds most endearing.

Arthur lets his head drop back against the wall with a thud and shuts his eyes. When he opens them, Merlin is hovering next to him, chugging a bottle of water. He holds an unopened bottle out for Arthur.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“That Gwaine’s really something, don’t you think?” Merlin says cheerily. “He’s the _perfect_ Fiyero. I don’t know where Morgana found him, but that was a damn good find.”

 _I know where_ , Arthur thinks, and half considers telling him it’s the gutter, but knows it would be cruel and vile to do so. He restrains himself, but he can’t bring himself to be happy about Gwaine’s presence.

“What’s wrong now?” Merlin asks exasperatedly. “There’s always something with you, always something to get you brooding,” he says, hopping onto the box where Gwen had been sitting before. “Spit it out.”

“Be careful around Gwaine,” he manages to say. “He’s all fun and no substance. He doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.”

“That’s a shitty thing to s—”

“I know from experience, Merlin. Trust me,” Arthur says curtly. He screws the cap on his bottle more forcefully than necessary.

“What the fuck? What’s that even mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. Morgana’s calling us back out,” Arthur says. He can feel misery creeping into him like a chill, even in the heat of a Camelot summer.

“All right,” Merlin says. Arthur looks at him, unable to hide his surprise. “I said all right, yeah? I can respect whatever you don’t want to say about you and Gwaine.”

“Oh.”

That’s _not_ what Arthur was expecting, and certainly not what he’s used to getting.

“Yeah, _oh_. Not everyone is a nosy prat,” Merlin says, pushing Arthur aside by the shoulder as he gets up. Arthur stands and shoves Merlin back. They end up squabbling all the way out to the stage. Arthur’s grinning and somehow feeling better about this, even though Gwaine is there not five feet away from him and Morgana looking on looks smugger than usual.

“Better?” Merlin mutters, leaning in. Arthur rolls his eyes and shoves Merlin once more for good measure. Morgause shoots them a warning look and Arthur hastily takes a step away from Merlin.

“Let’s run through again and then we’ll break up into groups and keep working on choreography,” Morgause calls. She rests her finger on the _play_ button on the speaker. “Start the scene.”

Arthur takes his place on the side, chatting with a bunch of other people, when Gwaine/Fiyero sweeps in and makes a grand entrance. Arthur knows Morgana brought him in for some reason, and part of it has to be to mess with Arthur further – she was there the night Uther effectively turned Gwaine back out on the streets after having found him and Gwaine having sex. It wasn’t exactly how Arthur had planned to come out to his father, but Uther came around eventually. Gwaine, on the other hand, wasn’t apparently so reasonable.

Whatever Morgana’s reason is for doing this, Arthur’s not going to let her win. He acts the hell out of the scene leading up to the song, doing his best to look utterly enthralled with Gwaine/Fiyero. It’s shockingly not that hard, even after all that’s happened. Gwaine, too, proves to be an excellent actor, proving to be much more fascinating than Mordred/Boq. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Merlin hanging about off-stage, watching them, biting into his lower lip with a frown and furrowed brows on his face.

Arthur forces himself to focus.

 

 _“_ _The trouble with schools is,_

_They always try to teach the wrong lesson._

_Believe me, I’ve been kicked out of_

_Enough of them to know._

_They want you to become less callow, less shallow._

_But I say why invite stress in?_

_Stop studying strife, and learn to live_

_The unexamined life.”_

 

He grudgingly sees just why Merlin was so impressed with Gwaine. He has a great voice, for sure, and he captures Fiyero’s personality easily, with his light attitude and genuine smile. He might as well be as thoroughly trained in theater as Arthur or Merlin, the way he moves about and dances without having been taught any of the steps.

 

_“Woes are fleeting, blows are a-glancing_

_When you’re dancing through life!”_

 

Releasing the long note on _life,_ Gwaine turns his roguish grin on Arthur and says,

 

_“So! What’s the most swankified place in town?”_

 

 _“That would be the Oz Dust Ballroom,_ ” Arthur replies as a matter-of-factly, just this side of sweet. He bats his eyes at Gwaine for good measure. Gwaine grabs Arthur by the shoulders and says,

 

_“Sounds perfect!”_

 

The music changes. Arthur’s prepared to just stand beside Gwaine, since even _he_ can’t know the steps to their faux-tango, but he takes Arthur’s waist and leads him seamlessly around the others onstage, singing,

 

_“Let’s go down to the Oz Dust Ballroom_

_We’ll meet there later tonight._

_We can dance ‘til it lights_

_Find the prettiest girl, give her a whirl…”_

 

Gwaine spins Arthur perfectly, like he’s been doing this his whole damn life. Arthur catches a glimpse of Merlin looking utterly floored and far too impressed. Gwaine grins even more widely at him as Arthur returns to the frame of his arms.

 

_“Right on down to the Oz Dust Ballroom_

_Come on follow me_

_You’ll be happy to be there!”_

 

The chorus joins in as Gwaine holds the note, singing to Arthur, who’s proud of his self-restraint up until this point, considering Gwaine’s wandering hands and lewd looks when he thinks no one but Arthur can notice. Morgana’s smirk says otherwise.

 

_“Dancing through life! Down at the Oz Dust!”_

_“If only because dust is what we come to_

_Nothing matters but knowing nothing matters_

_It’s just life_

_So keep dancing through!”_

 

Mordred/Boq, to whom Arthur hasn’t spoken much but has watched over the last few days, approaches him timidly with what he thinks is his most winning smile.

 

 _“Miss Galinda? I hope you save at least one dance for me,”_ Mordred says with a nervous laugh. _“I’ll be right there waiting all night.”_

 _“Oh, that’s so kind. But you know what would be even kinder?”_ Arthur asks, taking Mordred by the shoulders and turning him toward Kara/Nessa, awkwardly hovering near the end of the stage.

“ _See that tragically beautiful girl?_

_The one in the chair? It seems so unfair_

_We should go on a spree and not she. Gee!_

_I know someone would be my hero_

_If that someone were_

_To go invite her!”_

_“Well maybe I could invite her?”_

_“Oh, Vic, really? You would do that for me?”_ Arthur sings with as much fake sincerity he can muster.

 _“I would do anything for you, Miss Galinda,”_ Mordred says. He sounds startlingly honest. Arthur decides the boy can act decently, at least. As soon as he runs off toward Kara, Arthur turns back to Gwaine with a coy smile.

_“So…”_

_“So I’ll be picking you up around eight?”_

_“After all,”_ Arthur sings, sidling closer to Gwaine, _“Now that we’ve met one another it’s clear we deserve each other.”_

_“You’re perfect!”_

_“You’re perfect.”_

_“So we’re perfect together, born to be forever_

_Dancing through life!”_

 

Merlin wanders on-stage as the rest of them take to the sidelines, ranting about Gwaine/Fiyero’s appearance and the _cultish social gathering_. Arthur covers a laugh behind his hand. Kara walks slowly to him and talks, then sings, about the Ball and Mordred/Boq. Again, the honesty is a little frightening, but given the hand-holding Arthur saw, he’s not too surprised. Gwaine bumps his shoulder.

“How’ve you been?” he whispers.

“Well enough, Gwaine,” Arthur replies. “You?”

“Good. Really good.”

“Morgana dragged you into this, then?”

“Obviously,” snorts Gwaine. “Trust me, princess, I’ve got better things to be doing than singing in a bloody musical on my afternoons off.”

“All of your afternoons are off, Gwaine,” Arthur sighs.

“Yeah, well, you know I like to keep busy when I’m around the office,” he says.

“Right. Office.”

“I have one! I’m a proper businessman now, just like I said I’d be,” he adds. Arthur doesn’t respond to him. Arthur instinctively shoves Gwaine aside as Morgana comes to them and tells Arthur to get over to the chorus members playing Galinda’s friends. Kara is almost done with her part and Merlin’s about to jump in and make his way to Arthur.

Arthur hurries over and feigns holding a hat up to them. He delivers the lines about needing to _accessorize for Fiyero_ and complaining about the hideous hat. The girls tell him to give Elphaba the hat, so Arthur meets Merlin halfway across the stage. The chorus members practically run away.

 

_“Galinda, listen, Nessa and I were talking about you just now.”_

_“And I was just talking about you!”_ Arthur exclaims, showing Merlin an imaginary hat. _“I thought you might want to wear this hat to the part tonight!_

_“It’s really, uh, sharp, don’t you think?_

_You know black is this year’s pink._

_You deserve each other,_

_This hat and you, you’re both so… smart!_

_You deserve each other,_

_So here, out of the goodness of my heart!”_

 

Merlin’s staring at the imaginary hat with such confusion Arthur almost breaks character and tells him not to think to hard about it. Then, he laughs to himself and runs off-stage in the other direction. No, instead, the music picks up as the scene fake-changes from the school to the Ballroom. Everyone pairs off quickly and dances a few steps, but not enough to fill the whole instrumental interlude. Mordred/Boq and Kara/Nessa have a short, terribly awkward scene together after the music fades. Morgause is watching them so Arthur doesn’t do his brief conversation with Madame Morrible, but he alters Galinda accordingly so that he does genuinely feel bad when Merlin hurries on looking a bit like a startled but very determined deer.

Everyone freezes. Merlin takes the invisible hat off, walking slowly to the center of the stage. He half-turns whenever someone whispers or points but he doesn’t ever give them full-acknowledgement. Without any music, he starts dancing – and dancing _horribly_ , worse than Arthur’s ever seen anyone dance, with stiff, flailing limbs and as serious an expression as ever on his face.

 _“Well I’ll say this, she doesn’t give a twig about what anyone thinks,”_ Gwaine/Fiyero remarks.

 _“Of course she does, she just pretends not to,”_ Arthur says, sounding distressed. He looks at his hands holding an imaginary wand. _“I feel awful.”_

_“Why? It’s not like it’s your fault.”_

Arthur ignores him and says, _“Excuse me,_ ” before walking up to Merlin and tapping his shoulder. Merlin looks at him, his face suddenly confused.

_“May I cut in?”_

Arthur does his best to mimic Merlin’s motions but Merlin’s not making it easy.

“Ease up,” he mutters.

“What, too much for you, Arthur?” Merlin says.

“I’m not as clumsy and uncoordinated, _Mer_ lin,” he hisses, “so I’m finding this _dancing_ a bit challenging.”

Merlin prods his side just as the chorus joins in and starts to dance as well. Merlin giggles whenever he’s facing away from Morgana and Morgause, watching everyone fail at whatever he was doing before. Arthur rolls his eyes and keeps on trying.

 

_“Dancing through life! Down at the Oz Dust!_

_If only because dust is what we come to!_

_And a strange thing, your life could end up changing_

_While you’re dancing through!”_

 

A few younger chorus members sit on the stage as soon as the song is over.

“Good job,” Morgana says, standing up. “Take five, and then break up into your usual groups for choreography. Arthur, Merlin, Elena, and Gwaine – a moment?”

Elena stumbles walking off the stage and suave-as-fuck Gwaine prevents a nasty fall by catching her. Arthur takes longer steps to Morgana.

“Why is he here, Morgana?” he demands.

“He’s the perfect Fiyero,” she says.

“Yeah, that’s kind of the problem,” Arthur says. “You know there’s a lot of bad water under the bridge there.”

“He’s better now, Arthur,” reprimands Morgana. “Give him a chance. He asks about you whenever I see him.”

“How often is that, hmm?” he asks. “How often have you been seeing my ex in the last three years?”

“Well, I didn’t know for certain what happened there, but you’ve just confirmed it,” Morgana says coolly.

“How could you not?”

“I know Uther hated him and had him banished from the palace at some point, and you two had a massive row after that,” Morgana says. “We’ve become friends since then.”

“Business associates,” Gwaine says. Arthur looks sharply at him and glares. Gwaine raises an eyebrow. On his other side Merlin elbows him.

“Ow! Quit that!”

“Sorry,” Merlin sniggers. Arthur huffs and says to Morgana,

“What is it you want?”

“I want you four to stay an extra half hour after practices next week,” says Morgana. “Morgause wants to work with you together on some of the songs.”

“I can’t – I have to work the night shift a few times next week,” says Merlin instantly.

“Can’t you reschedule?”

“No,” Merlin says. “I can’t risk losing this job.”

“Merlin, you didn’t mark down any night shifts,” Morgana says. Arthur can see the rage coming out. He grabs Merlin’s wrist and takes a step toward his sister.

“Let it go, Morgana.”

Morgana blinks and looks at him, her face cooling.

“You’re not set in Galinda’s role yet, Arthur,” she says. “We’re not done deliberating.”

“Morgana!”

“Really, I want to be the understudy,” Elena says, cutting in. “I want to be in the chorus otherwise. I don’t think I can handle the rest.”

“Thank you, Elena,” Morgana says sweetly, “but it’s not so simple. We need to know that _Arthur_ here can handle all the delicate nuances of Galinda’s character.”

“Did you see him out there?” Gwaine interrupts. “He’s great! He’s as good as any man will get at playing a floating pink fairy.”

Morgana turns a truly cold look on Gwaine, but he doesn’t back down, defiant as always. That’s when Arthur starts to get the sense that something more complicated is going on than Morgana being a pain in his ass and calling in Gwaine to screw with Arthur’s performance.

“I’ll decide that,” Morgana states. “Now, go back to work. That’s all I had to say.”

\---

“You’re all excellent,” Gwaine exclaims. “Really.”

Everyone bloody _loves_ Gwaine. Arthur’s sitting in the corner, pretending to read work-related emails while everyone else – Merlin, too – fawns over Gwaine at the end of practice.

“Let me make it up to you guys,” says Gwaine.

“Make what up to us?”

“For never being here for any of these fucking practices,” he says. “Look, I’m never gonna come during the week because my work keeps me busy at night, and I’ve got to head over there soon. How about all of you come with me?”

“Er,” Mordred says, “where do you work?”

“Is there pizza?” one young girl pipes up.

“No, but there’s a great Italian place on the next block,” he adds. “Ever heard of Club Lothian?”

Arthur looks up sharply. He hears the collect jaw-drop.

“That’s _yours_?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“Yep,” says Gwaine. “Told you I’ve done well.”

“Indeed,” Arthur says sourly.

“So, what do you say? Who’s up for some bonding and drinking?”

Everyone seems to like the idea. Merlin breaks out of the group to find Arthur.

“What do you say?” he asks a little breathlessly. His eyes sparkle with excitement.

“I don’t know,” Arthur starts, but he looks at Merlin again and knows it’s a lost argument. “You’ve never seen a club like that, have you?”

He shakes his head.

“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin says. “I know I could use a night to just relax. You probably could, too.”

“Perhaps.”

“You’ve been stressed.”

“I guess….”

“We’re all going,” Merlin presses.

“Peer pressure won’t work on me,” Arthur says. He’s already grabbing his jumper and following the rest of the crowd off the stage and out the doors. “I could use a drink, though.”

“Good,” Merlin says solemnly. “I could, too.”

“You know having more than one drink is going to empty your wallet,” Arthur says frankly. “Lothian is one of the most exclusive clubs in the Citadel.”

“I’ll make one drink last, then,” Merlin shrugs. “I don’t really want to get plastered.”

“Fair enough,” Arthur nods. He looks over his shoulder. “Coming, Morgana?”

“Nah. We’re working on a few things with Gwen now,” she calls. “Go numb your sorrows with alcohol, dear brother.”

“Bye, Morgana.”

The drive into the city is quiet but the air is charged with excitement. As much as Arthur inherently doesn’t want to go to Gwaine’s club, he knows he needs a night like this.

“Arthur?”

“What?”

“I’ve been saying your name for ages,” Merlin says pointedly.

“Have you?” Arthur says distantly.

“I said I wouldn’t ask about Gwaine,” Merlin starts, “and I won’t, but you’re starting to freak me out. You look so… pensive.”

“I’m thinking. Am I not allowed to think?”

“What are you thinking about?” Merlin asks.

Arthur shrugs. “This and that.”

“Liar.”

Arthur doesn’t respond, and Merlin goes silent, tapping his fingers on the cup holder between them.

“Fine. Gwaine was my first boyfriend, or whatever. My father walked in on us, and that’s how he learned I was gay. He had Gwaine banned from the palace and thrown back on the streets,” Arthur says in clipped tones. “Somehow, Morgana’s adopted him as her pet or she’s got her claws in him, somehow.”

“Probably the latter,” Merlin grimaces. “That’s terrible, Arthur. You didn’t need to tell me.”

“No, but… I wanted to.”

“Why?”

Arthur shrugs again.

“He seems like a decent guy,” says Merlin.

“When he wants to be,” says Arthur. “We… tried to see each other on the sly. Uther didn’t catch us but I guess I wanted more than Gwaine did, and Gwaine didn’t want much to do with royalty at all after Uther caught us. Guess that’s changed since then.”

Arthur doesn’t say more, but Merlin seems to understand. All he does is take Arthur’s hand and lace his fingers through. He rubs his thumb across Arthur’s hand soothingly – well, it ought to be soothing, but it just sends shocks through Arthur’s body and almost makes him jump out his seat. He pulls away.

“Don’t pout, Merlin,” Arthur says with a laugh. “I need to drive.”

“Wouldn’t want to die by crashing into a stop sign,” Merlin says. Arthur looks at him and grins at the red blush on Merlin’s face. “What?”

“You’re rather red,” Arthur grins.

“It’s hot, is all.”

Merlin rolls down the window and more warm air whips through the car.

“Hang on,” Arthur says. He fiddles with a few buttons before the hood of the car retracts and reveals the whole cool blue sky overhead, the stars dimmed by the bright lights of central Camelot. Merlin bends his head back and gazes up at the night sky, a great goofy smile on his face.

“That’s amazing! I didn’t even know cars could do that!”

Merlin lets out an excited whoop and throws his hands up. Arthur keeps his eyes on the road but he can feel Merlin radiating joy and excitement. It inspires a warm, gentle happiness in the center of his chest Arthur’s never felt. It pulses and fills him in spaces he didn’t even know existed. Arthur turns on the radio and turns a jaunty rock song up, trying to drown out his heart beating loudly in his ears, battering his chest from the inside out.

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

Gwen waits backstage until everyone’s gone toward the exit in a cloud of excitement. She’s surprised Arthur agreed to go along but Merlin just had to bat his eyelashes at him to change his mind. Gwen feels like laughing at the thought.

Arthur is different from how she remembers. More mature, more world-weary and aware. He’s the sort of man Gwen always hoped he’d become. Perhaps that’s why she doesn’t mind his crush on Merlin. She’s gotten rapidly protective of him—he doesn’t seem like the sort of person who deserves all the misfortune he accrues, and yet he handles it with more dignity than most people would have.

College was while ago, she supposes. Gwen sighs and gets off her perch among the props. She pushes past the curtains and finds Morgana and Morgause speaking with their heads close, their bodies closer. There’s no questioning the nature of their closeness. The tabloids had it right.

So Gwen picked up a few of the rags to read during the quiet hours at work. So what?

She shook her head and descended from the stage.

“Gwen. Come on, we haven’t got all night,” Morgause says without looking up from the papers on the table.

“There’s no need to be rude,” Gwen scowls, speaking before thinking. Morgause looks up and blinks owlishly at her.

“Sorry,” she says without feeling. “Let’s talk set plans and costumes.”

The conversation is slow. Morgause isn’t as good with the backstage machinations of a production, so Morgana often has to stop and explain. They end up drawing a plan and mapping out the timing of everything that’ll go into the sets, props, costumes, and beyond. Gwen makes a second copy to take to Lance.

“He’ll be excited,” she promises. “He loves painting and doesn’t get enough of a reason to do it these days.”

“Great,” Morgause says, looking at her watch. “I need to run. Gwen, get us some sketches for the costumes soon.”

“I already have a bunch.”

“I’ll stop by tomorrow and you can show me then,” says Morgana. Gwen meets her eye and it’s like lightning hitting her in the core.

Gwen nods and walks away to get water. Her heart’s racing as she gulps the water down.

 _This doesn’t make a lick of sense! I don’t know her. She’s still beautiful, but I’m not interested in her. Not like that. I have Lance and I want to spend my life with him,_ she thinks.

The lightning-struck part of her starts to sink: if she had to rationalize it away, it means there was something there in the first place.

She bids them good night and heads up to her flat, the air pleasantly crisp and devoid of humidity. She’d left her sketchbooks all around the living room along with drafts of flyers.

The Druid meeting proved to be an incredible experience, particularly for Joseph. He started out silent, but by the end he was working with the other Druid members to organize a town hall-style meeting between local business owners and the neighborhood Druid leaders. Gwen thought it was a grand idea; she started working on the flyers earlier at Lance’s.

There’s still light on the horizon, though it’s certainly the glow of Camelot at night. Either way, Gwen settles on the floor and strokes her pencils. She starts to sketch aimlessly.

When she looks down a while later, she has Morgana on the page, dressed to the nines in a gown she saw her wear in one of the gossip magazines. Instantly hot and horrified Gwen scrambles away from the sketchpad. She stares at it like it’s a squirming bug, hugging her legs to her chest like a shield.

She stands and backs away, reaching with her arm until she finds the phone on the wall. She takes it out of the holder and sits on the floor. The phone rings and rings. It’s late. She knows he should be sleeping but—

“Gwen?”

“Lance,” she breathes. His voice injects her with calm instantly.

“What’s wrong? You sound upset.”

“I needed to talk to you about something,” she says. Gwen feels her voice quiver, her eyes burn. She feels even hotter with embarrassment.

“What’s going on?”

“No, it’s okay. We can talk tomorrow.”

“Gwen. You wouldn’t have called this late if it wasn’t important,” Lance says. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m worried. I think Morgana’s getting under my skin,” she says. Her voice breaks.

“Oh, Gwen. It’s all right. You were best friends. You had a bad break-up. It’s hard to pick things up after that,” Lance says.

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“I’m not. I know you, remember?”

“I know,” she says, smiling in spite of herself. “I don’t know what to do, Lance.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know. I know I love you more than anything, but… I know there’s something not finished there. I just don’t know what it is,” Gwen admits. He’s quiet. “Are you mad?”

“No,” he says, but Gwen can hear the thoughts heavy in his voice. “It’s understandable.”

“But are you mad?”

“No. Not at all. If I were you, I’d try being friends.”

“I don’t know if that’s something we can do.”

“Is it worth trying?”

“Maybe.”

“Gwen.”

“I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

“Then think about it and tell me what you decide tomorrow.”

Lancelot yawns audibly. Gwen smiles at the thought of his mussed hair and the way his shirt always rides up in the night when it’s cool enough to wear one. She feels a pang of longing to be in his bed tonight.

“I love you,” Gwen says softly. “You know that, right? No matter what?”

“I love you too,” he says.

“Night.”

He murmurs goodbye and hangs up. The apartment feels cool and quiet now. The drawing is still on the floor across the room, but Gwen isn’t quite as horrified by it. She crawls back to it.

Gwen spends longer than she would ever admit looking at the drawing, remembering things she buried in the back of her mind long, long ago. She’s glad it’s Saturday night; when she finally goes to bed the light of dawn is truly peeking over the distant turrets of the citadel.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

He knows he should take his time, but after that car ride, Merlin downs his drink and – _damn it’s strong!_ He looks around the dark room alive with music and people in beautiful clothes dancing. It looks a little more stunning as the alcohol settles in his stomach and a pleasant haze starts to blur his vision.

“What do you think?” Gwaine asks, appearing behind the bar by Merlin. He turns around and beams at him.

“It’s amazing,” he gushes. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Glad you like it. Can I get you another drink?”

“Nah. I’ve used my funds up,” Merlin says, shaking his head.

“It’s on me,” Gwaine says with a wink. “Or, you know, anything else you’d like.”

Merlin blushes in spite of himself. Gwaine is fucking gorgeous, yes, and if he were back home he’d want to climb him like a tree, but Camelot has made him strangely picky.

“It’s fine,” Merlin says. Gwaine keeps on, so Merlin reaches across the bar and grabs his hand before he can reach for a bottle. “Really. I’m flattered.”

“Hey, we could call it research,” he says, leaning closer, wrapping his hand around Merlin’s wrist, stroking his pulse point. Merlin swallows dryly. “You’re Elphaba, I’m Fiyero. It makes sense, you know?”

“I’m not sleeping with you because of the roles we’re playing,” Merlin says firmly, pulling his wrist free with surprising ease. “I think you’re cool, and I want to be friends, but… not like that.”

“You sure?” he asks, giving Merlin a look strong enough to burn a hole through him and licking his lips for good measure. Merlin won’t say it’s an easy refusal, but in his heart he knows he’d regret it.

“Yeah. Though… you might have luck with Elena,” Merlin says, nodding at Elena sitting at the end of the bar by herself with an untouched drink, flipping through her phone. “How do you feel about horses?”

“Grew up around ‘em,” Gwaine blinks. “My family used to raise them before the Purge.”

“She rides competitively.”

“Does she now?” Gwaine asks, eyebrows rising. He starts to smile, and it’s very different from the one he’d given Merlin while propositioning him. “Think she’d give me the time of day?”

“If you’re nice. I hear she’s a classy lady.”

Elena laughs at something on her phone and snorts loudly.

“That’s classy, all right,” Gwaine says reverently, sounding entirely serious for once. “Thanks, Merlin.”

“Glad to help,” he says brightly. “Go, and don’t be creepy!”

Gwaine flips him off and shoots him a good-natured grin before walking down the bar. He’s not sure he knows what just happened exactly but it doesn’t matter much, according to the strangely strong alcohol buzzing in his body. Merlin watches him lean across on his elbows and say something. Elena looks up, confused, only to light up and start talking animatedly. Merlin looks away, unable resist feeling good. He drains the melted ice from his drink and steps away from the bar.

Looking around, he seeks Arthur’s golden hair, but he’s nowhere on the dance floor or in any of the booths on this end of the club. Merlin thinks he sees something light up on the dance floor, but it’s not Arthur. He feels a surge of disappointment. They hadn’t been awkward going in, but Arthur excused himself rather quickly. Merlin hadn’t thought much of it, but now it was starting to look a little bleak.

He most certainly doesn’t miss Arthur Pendragon. Nope. Arthur’s just his only proper friend in the cast , apparently, and he’s nowhere to be found.

“Hey.”

Merlin spins around and almost whacks Arthur in the face. He, luckily, has terrifyingly quick reflexes.

“Whoa, there,” Arthur says, ducking out of the way.

“You’re too fast,” Merlin complains.

“I’ve had years of training, Merlin,” Arthur says confidently. “I doubt you could get one punch on me.”

“I couldn’t when we met,” Merlin agrees. “I won’t challenge that judgment now.”

“Now, with magic,” Arthur says, leaning close. His breath tickles Merlin’s ear. He doesn’t smell a drop of alcohol. “I’m sure you’d have no problems.”

“Don’t be,” Merlin says, suddenly feeling a little hot. “I’m a bit of a failure at magic.”

“What about drinking then, eh? Have you just been lazing about?”

“No, I had one,” Merlin says quickly. Arthur throws his head back and laughs.

“God, that was quick, then! Let me buy you another.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“I insist,” Arthur says. “We’re here to bond, aren’t we?”

“I think we’ve bonded enough over eavesdropping and politics,” Merlin retorts. “Don’t you think so?”

“I’m buying you a drink, Merlin.”

Arthur steps out of Merlin’s space and walks down to where Gwaine and Elena are still talking. Merlin watches Arthur let out another big laugh at something Elena says.

Merlin’s magic prickles. He freezes, hands halfway into his pockets. Merlin holds his breath, hoping, waiting, and nothing happens. Just as Arthur returns to him, just as he thinks it’s safe, his magic bursts in him, like a punch to the gut, and the air in the club slows down. It thickens and colors in various shades of gray and green. Merlin looks around, the air slow as molasses, and sees Mordred and Kara near the toilets. They scream magenta and azure.

 _“They’re fine,”_ Mordred says impatiently. _“Morgana’s waiting.”_

 _“Give it another few minutes, Mordred. The potions are going to kick in any moment,”_ Kara says. _“Then we’ll go.”_

Mordred nods. Their colors fade away.

The world unsticks, and Merlin gasps for air.

“Merlin?”

He’s half-standing, half-bracketed by Arthur’s arms and the bar, his hand on Merlin’s arm. Merlin hastily extricates himself from Arthur and looks around. Everything looks blurry, and it’s definitely not the haze of expensive cigar smoke hanging over the room like a storm cloud.

“Shit. Did you drink anything yet?” Merlin asks, looking between Arthur and the two green drinks on the bar.

“No, I thought we might—”

“Don’t,” Merlin orders. He pushes the drinks down the bar. One of the drinks tips over and the liquid slowly flows onto the countertop. His head is starting to feel fuzzier by the moment. “Leave the drinks.”

“What the hell are you on about, Merlin?” Arthur says. He makes a high-pitched affronted sound when Merlin grabs his wrist. “Hey! Let go!”

“I thought your military training could get you out of anything, Pendragon,” Merlin says over his shoulder.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Arthur protests. “Shit, Merlin! Slow down!”

Merlin glances back at Arthur and lets go the moment they’re out of the main room and in the mouth of a side hallway.

“The drinks are spiked,” Merlin says. He’s unusually breathless. “I… don’t know how, but my magic helped me overhear Mordred and Kara talking about it. They’re with Morgana’s side.”

“Are you certain?” Arthur asks sharply. Merlin watches him transform, his muscles tense, his body shift from relaxed to ready to spring into action.

“They’re drugging us all to keep us distracted here,” Merlin nods as Arthur pats his belt, clearly searching for a gun he doesn’t have with him, “and then they’re going back to the theater. All this? Morgana bringing Gwaine in, him taking us to his bar – they’re keeping us out of the way.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes! Trust me!”

“Which way did they go? Mordred and Kara.”

“They were heading for the loos.”

Arthur turns away and makes for the end of the hall before Merlin even finishes his sentence. Merlin groans and sets off after him. By the time he gets to the corner, though, he’s nauseous and light-headed. It’s not like he’s never drank before – with Will as his surrogate brother, he’s had more than his fair share – but this is beyond a normal reaction, even to one bad drink.

“Fuck,” Merlin breathes.

“Fuck!” Arthur shouts. Merlin opens his eyes, not sure when he even closed them. “You said they came this way! Where are they?”

“Maybe they just went for a quickie?” Merlin suggests. Arthur glares at him, stalking up to him.

“You said you were absolutely sure.”

“I was. I am,” Merlin frowns.

“People’s lives are at stake,” Arthur says, crowding into Merlin’s space, backing him up to the wall. “You can’t just go on conjectures.”

“It wasn’t a fucking conjecture!” Merlin says, suddenly irritated. “I saw them go this way. I heard them say the drinks are spiked. You know you can trust me.”

“Merlin—”

Just down the hall, the door to the men’s toilet opens. After a moment, Mordred and Kara walk out together, looking none too put together. They’re speaking quietly. Merlin can see the sated blush on their faces as they approach.

“All right, Arthur? Merlin?” Mordred asks. Arthur starts to back away from Merlin. Mordred holds up a hand and grins at them. “Oh, don’t stop on our account! We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Calling it an early night?” Merlin asks. Mordred looks at him, the smile on his face faltering instantly.

“We’ve got plans in the morning,” Kara replies. Her hand visibly tightens on Mordred’s waist. “Good night.”

Arthur says, “Good night,” and they watch them walk unhurriedly down the hall to the club’s back exit at the far end of the hall. Merlin sags against Arthur’s shoulder beside him the moment they’re out of sight.

“Get up. We have to go,” Arthur says, nudging him.

“Arthur….”

He sounds off the wall, leaving Merlin’s side. Merlin sees him turn around when Merlin doesn’t immediately follow. He presses his cheek to the wall before his legs start to wobble.

“Arthur—”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“Something. I don’t know. Just—oh, fuck,” Merlin gasps, his magic sending a surge through him. He stands upright, his spine straight as a metal rod because of the shock. Then, his stomach lurches and he feels bile in the back of his throat. “I have to go.”

“Come on,” Arthur says, throwing Merlin’s arm over his shoulders. He half-walks, half-drags Merlin down the hall and shoulders the back door open. The late night air washes over his face, cooling the sweat heavy on his brow. “Shit, Merlin, I’m taking you home.”

“We can’t. Morg—”

“Arthur!”

Merlin looks up from the sidewalk and sees Mordred jogging up to them. Kara is nowhere in sight.

“Mordred?” Arthur says. “I thought you were heading home.”

“I had a feeling something wasn’t quite right,” Mordred says. “Merlin looked a bit off. I wanted to be sure everything was okay.”

“Something’s not agreeing with him,” Arthur says. “Merlin?”

“Yeah?”

“Time to go home,” Arthur says, and there’s clearly no room for arguing. “Mordred, can you stay with him while I get my car?”

“Arthur—”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur says, pushing him onto a bench. Mordred settles next to him. He hears Arthur walk away.

“Merlin,” Mordred starts. He sounds apologetic, “I… understand if you don’t want my help, but I think there is something I can do.”

“Is there?” he asks blearily. He looks up from holding his head in his hands and over at Mordred. He looks no older than seventeen, really. Mordred nods eagerly. “Go for it.”

“It’s magic.”

“Erm. Okay.”

“That’s not a problem?”

“Nope,” Merlin says. “I feel like I’m going to vomit, so do your thing.”

“Sit up.”

Merlin does. Mordred’s smooth hands cup his face, his thumbs resting on his closed eyelids. He murmurs in a distant language. Merlin’s magic starts to stir, but it feels less like a storm and more like a gentle drizzle inside him. For once, it doesn’t feel like a threat. Mordred slides his thumbs from his eyelids to his temples and presses gently. He feels a tendril of pure healing magic dart into him. Just as quickly as it comes, it goes, taking all sickness with it. Mordred releases him. Merlin opens his eyes. The boy’s hands are shaking, his lips slightly parted. He still has a relaxed, rosy look about him.

“Thanks,” Merlin blinks. “I feel a hell of a lot better.”

“It was nothing.”

Right on time, Arthur’s car pulls up in front of them.

“Give Arthur my regards, yeah? Kara’s waiting down the block,” he says with a sheepish smile. Merlin nods.

“Will do.”

Mordred jogs away before Arthur can get out of the car.

“Why’d he go?” Arthur asks. Merlin shrugs. Arthur takes his arm and helps him to his feet. He frowns. “You don’t look sick anymore.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.”

“What happened?”

“Mordred helped,” Merlin says simply. “He used his magic.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s go to the theater.”

“No, Merlin. I’m still taking you home,” Arthur says firmly. “You’re in no state.”

“I’m fine!” he argues. “Let’s just see if there’s anyone there on the way back.”

“It’s out of the way.”

“Arthur.”

“There’ll be other chances to catch them.”

“Why let this one slide? What kind of officer are you?”

“The kind who doesn’t want you to get sick all over his car,” Arthur states. “You looked like death a minute ago! That’s not normal.”

“Magic can do wonderful things,” Merlin says flatly. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. More than fine.”

He smiles at him as endearingly as possible.

Arthur gives him a hard, annoyed look as he gets into the car. Merlin climbs in and crosses his arms, waiting. Arthur sighs and starts the car. They drive in silence until Arthur takes the exit for the DeBois Quarter.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” Arthur says automatically.

“I didn’t.”

“You were thinking it.”

“What?” he asks innocently.

He reaches over and shoves Merlin’s shoulder. He looks at Arthur just in time to catch the tail end of a smile that Merlin can only describe as _fond_. He has to consciously stop himself from smiling the same smile in response, focusing instead on the steady hum of the engine and the world flying by them.

\---

The lights are on. Morgana’s things are still by the directorial table, and there are a few props on the stage leftover from rehearsal, but the whole theater is empty. Merlin and Arthur spend the better part of thirty minutes combing the theater. They end up on the stage, looking out at the vast, empty space before them.

“I don’t understand,” Merlin says. He’s truly baffled.

“It’s all right,” Arthur says, but Merlin knows it’s not.

“I can almost feel it,” he murmurs. “Something’s happening very close to here, but I haven’t got a clue how to find it.”

“I said it’s fine, “ he sighs. “We’ll keep working at it.”

Merlin hops off the stage and leaves the theater, Arthur following quietly behind him. They drive in contemplative silence out to Lance’s flat.

“Morgana’s good,” Arthur says when he turns off the engine. “People she’ll be working with would know exactly how to stay out of sight.”

“We’ve got to be better than that, then,” Merlin says dully.

“Yeah,” he says, “but we will be. We are.”

“You’ve got your whole team on your side,” Merlin agrees. “That’s something.”

“And you,” Arthur adds. He turns toward Merlin. “I’m… I’m glad you’re helping me, Merlin. Even if you’re pretty useless.”

Merlin snorts.

“Thanks. I’m good at being useless, at least. I can trip over stuff, and into things, mostly.”

“Those are great skills.”

“I thought so, too,” Merlin agrees. “I’m a major asset.”

Arthur laughs. “You know, I’ve never known anyone quite like you.”

He looks to Arthur, abruptly realizing just how close they’ve been edging toward each other. Arthur’s car feels so narrow all of a sudden, and yet all too wide for the space remaining between them. Merlin fights the urge to flee, to back away before anything more can happen – for once, he wants to let things play out. He wants to let himself have this, just this one time.

“In a good way or a bad way?” he asks, his voice coming out low and dry. Arthur’s eyes flick down to his lips. Merlin licks them without thinking, his own attention settling on Arthur’s mouth.

“Good,” Arthur replies, sounding utterly _wrecked_. “Definitely good.”

Merlin’s magic flutters at Arthur’s fingers ghosting his hand resting between them. It flutters dangerously. Merlin shuts his eyes. He draws away a fraction.

“See you tomorrow, Arthur,” Merlin whispers.

He flees.


	7. Dancing Through Life, Part Two

**Morgana**

 

The croissant flakes and leaves crumbs all over her lap as she takes a bite. The door to the dining room opens and Arthur enters. He looks utterly exhausted with dark circles under his eyes and lethargy in his limbs. He collapses into the seat beside her.

“I take it you enjoyed Gwaine’s club?” asks Morgana.

“His drinks are really fucking strong,” Arthur says with a weak laugh. Morgana smirks and pushes the pot of coffee toward him. Arthur eagerly drinks it black, not noticing her examining looks.

“Something else is wrong,” she says.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Arthur grumbles.

“Now I know something’s up,” she replies. Morgana pours him another cup of coffee and gets up to get some food for Arthur from the table on the other side of the room. “I think I can guess.”

“There’s nothing to guess.”

Morgana glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He looks alert now that her back is turned. She feels a flare of anger and drops a dollop of Arthur’s least favorite kind of jam on a slice of toast.

She had to stop the spell when she heard Arthur and Merlin clunking about on the ground floor, searching every damn corner and crevice – though not the right ones, at least. They waited until they left, until Mordred went out and watched Arthur’s car leave, and then they had to start anew.

Morgana was far from happy with her brother.

“You’re a horrible liar,” Morgana says sweetly, placing the plate in front of Arthur. She tosses a napkin at him and props her feet up on the edge of the table. “My guess is Merlin.”

“Merlin?”

“Don’t do that, Arthur. Ignorance doesn’t suit you,” she says coolly. “No, anyone can tell you’ve got a bit of a thing for him.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

Morgana waits until Arthur gets halfway through his toast.

“Whatever happened, or didn’t happen, by the looks of it,” Morgana says, “it’s not the end of the world. Merlin’s only been here for a few weeks. Can you blame him for wanting to keep things simple for a while?”

“It’s not that,” Arthur shakes his head. “I understand that. This _thing_ just wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“You can’t stop love, Arthur,” Morgana sings at him in the precise way she knows will irritate him the most.

“Morgana! It’s not love!”

“Whatever you say,” she says, throwing her hands up. She expects Arthur’s usual unamused expression, but she finds something closer to a very distressed puppy. She purses her lips. “Just… let things go at his pace for now. Maybe make plans to do something outside of the play. Have you done that yet?”

“Not exactly.”

“Do that, then.”

Morgana stands up. Arthur still looks like he’s having an existential crisis. The small part of her that feels bad, considering she essentially ordered Gwaine to get between them, announces,

“I’m feeling generous.”

“I should consider myself fortunate,” he says sarcastically.

“Indeed. Your final test for Galinda is going to be _Popular_ ,” she says. Arthur’s head shoots up from the napkin he’s been slowly tearing up in his lap. “Morgause is going to work on it with you this week, but… figure out how you want to do the scene. You do know how it goes, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he grits out. He’s flushed red with embarrassment already.

“You’re the one who wants the part.”

“I know.”

“Then you’re going to have to ace the most famous song in the production,” she says firmly, “at rehearsal next Friday. That’s all the warning you’re getting.”

“Morgana….”

“Like you said, consider yourself fortunate. Two weeks is more than enough time to prepare.”

Morgana swipes her phone off the table and leaves the dining hall. A message from Morgause informs her that she’s waiting for her outside to go and inspect Gwen’s latest work.

“I’m going to go see Mordred and the others while you speak with Gwen,” Morgause says. She rolls the windows all the way down. “Can you handle that?”

“Of course.”

Morgause doesn’t respond. Morgana doesn’t need her to in order to understand her. After talking to Arthur, though, she doesn’t quite have the energy to refute her. She drops her off at the theater, saying she’ll be back at before rehearsal in a stiff voice.

Morgana walks up the steps to the apartment building above the theater. She presses the button next to Gwen’s name. After a moment, Gwen buzzes her in. Morgana opens the door and nearly walks headlong into a man. He catches her arm and steadies her on her tall heels before smoothly stepping around her.

“Morgana,” Gwen says warmly, appearing in the doorway. She looks past her for a moment and waves at the man. “That’s Lance. He’s helping with the sets.”

“Yes, you did mention that,” Morgana says. “Shall we go talk?”

“Of course.”

Gwen leads her up two stories to her flat. It’s warm and yellow and full of sunlight. There’s tea set out on the table by a large window. Scraps of fabric and loose threads encircle the table like ripples on a lake. Morgana sits down, feeling utterly out of place in her heels and black leather dress.

“I think I’m about ready to start doing the fittings,” Gwen says, opening a familiar black sketchbook and presenting it to Morgana. “I’ve worked out how to do all the little details now, so I’d like to start working on putting the costumes together as soon as possible.”

“Excellent. You’ve been so helpful, Gwen,” Morgana says softly, touching one of the drawings. Gwen’s artwork was always so lovely to behold.

“Have you set the performance dates?”

“We can do it anytime, and for as long as we want,” she says. “No one else is using the space.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Run for a month, starting at the end of July,” Morgana says, “as close to Victory Week as possible.”

“Everyone will be coming to Camelot then,” Gwen nods. “That makes perfect sense. That gives us about… six weeks until opening, so we’ll definitely need to do the fittings soon.”

Morgana takes a sip of her tea, surprisingly made exactly how she likes it. She recognizes the blend immediately.

“This is from Lilia’s!” she exclaims. “I’d know it anywhere.”

“Oh? I hadn’t—”

“I thought they stopped producing after the shop shut down,” Morgana says.

The little tea shop – their favorite, back when they were dating – shut down just before they left for university. They’d both stocked up, but Morgana regretfully burned through her supply all in weeks. Morgana looks up from the teacup, the purple tea softened by the milk to lavender, just as sweet and fragrant as she remembered it.

“You still have it.”

“I was saving it,” Gwen says. “I figured now was as good a day as any.”

“Ah.”

“Have I said something wrong? Was this a terrible idea? Oh, god, it probably was. I just thought…,” Gwen trails off, her head dropping into one hand. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I, you,” she says, reaching for Gwen’s other hand. Gwen pulls away immediately.

“It’s not like that,” she says. Morgana opens her mouth, but one look from Gwen and she shuts it. “I loved you then, and I know you were scared and confused, but what happened really hurt me, too. I’m happy now. I’m in love with Lance – I want to spend the rest of my life with him if I can, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten you.”

“Then, what? What is all this?” Morgana says, feeling irritated. She waves at the tea.

“An invitation of friendship,” Gwen says calmly. “A statement of forgiveness, if that’s what you want.”

“This is a bit theatrical for you, Gwen.”

“It was Lance’s idea,” she admits.

“Well. Tell him… it was good,” Morgana says, taking up her tea again. She drains the cup and pushes it aside. Morgana takes Gwen’s hand in hers before she can retract it from the table. Gwen sighs, and Morgana knows she’s won by the way her hand relaxes in hers.

“What else can you show me?”

Gwen looks at her, ready to speak, when Morgana’s mobile rings.

“Shit. Give me a minute,” she says. Morgana slides the door open and steps onto the balcony overlooking the street and the hot midday sun.

“Yes?”

“I’ve learned something quite interesting from Mordred,” says Morgause. She sounds excited.

“Is it about the Underground? Has he worked out the layers, then?”

They’d spent the better part of an hour discussing it the night before.

“No,” says Morgause. “Apparently, Mordred had an encounter with our lovely lead, Merlin, last night. He reacted poorly to our drinks at Lothian, so he did his best to help him.”

“Like he is bound to do as a true druid, yes,” she replies impatiently. “So what?”

“Mordred learned, in doing so, that Merlin has magic.”

Morgana frowns.

“He can’t. He’s not – we would have felt something—”

“He says his magic is damaged, or that’s how it felt,” Morgause says. She pauses. Morgana hears Mordred’s muffled voice in the background. “It sounds like what you were like when your magic came to you late.”

“That _is_ interesting,” Morgana frowns more deeply.

“It also sounds like you’ve sent Mordred hunting for signs of Emrys behind my back,” Morgause says in a low voice. “Let it go, Morgana. He does not exist. Don’t waste Mordred’s time and energy when we have a limited time to reach our goals.”

“I understand, but if Emrys is able to stop us then we have to do something—”

“Sister!” she says harshly. “He can’t, because he is a _myth_ , a bedtime story for druids. Emrys poses no threat to us.”

“You can’t be certain.”

“I’m more certain than you are.”

“What will we do about Merlin?” Morgana asks.

“Nothing, for now,” Morgause says. “We watch and wait, especially if he’s staying so close to your brother these days.”

“That _is_ a rather amusing situation there,” Morgana says. “Arthur’s half in-love already.”

“The poor boy,” Morgause says sarcastically. “So long as he stays occupied, distracted, and out of our way.”

“We have Gwaine at our disposal if needed,” Morgana says.

“Good.”

“I’m busy, now. I’ll see you soon.”

Morgana hangs up abruptly. She leans on the railing and looks out at the street for a few moments before going back inside. Gwen is sitting at the table, sketching idly, her lip caught in her teeth loosely. A curl falls over her face. She blows it out of the way and looks up at Morgana.

“Everything all right?” she asks.

“More than fine,” she smiles. “Now, let’s work out a schedule for these fittings….”

\---

Morgana leaves Gwen’s flat a little before Morgause is due at the theater. She goes down to the Underground entrance, her magic lighting the way, and inspects the havoc they wreaked. The door is mostly in pieces on the floor, along with the chains. It had taken more than an hour to break through those chains, which led Morgana to the conclusion that Uther certainly had magical help in sealing the entrance. It only made her angrier.

The door had been easy – a simple slab of metal – but the first wall was where they had difficulties. Merlin and Arthur appeared around when they were getting the spell to full power; when they tried again after they left, there was a definite shift in the magic against them. Mordred declared they would need to try again another day, but that without any interruptions they should manage it just fine.

“The first is the easiest,” he told them confidently. Morgana touches the cracked wall. Something in the material repulses her magic, the very essence of her being. She pulls back as if scalded.

“You’d better be right,” she murmurs now. Morgana turns around and goes back to the main floor. She hums a few notes and exhales at the sensation. Her magic feels a little calmer now. She continues humming, flipping through her notes from her meeting with Gwen, until the door opens.

“ _Empty Chairs_? That’s rather much,” Morgause says, marching down the aisle.

“Was it?”

Morgana hadn’t noticed, really. _Les Miserables_ is her default setting.

“Come now. We’ve got work to do,” Morgause says, beckoning her to their table. Reluctantly, Morgana gets off the stage and settles into working fittings into the rehearsal schedule along with the definite performance dates.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

On Thursday, Merlin sneaks away during the mid-morning break to the payphone on the back wall of the factory by the less-favored smoking pit. He pulls out a slip of paper from his pocket and dials the number. The phone rings three times exactly before someone picks up.

“Magical Enforcement, Pendragon speaking.”

“Arthur? It’s me,” Merlin says, lowering his voice in spite of being completely alone.

“Merlin? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Well, sort of nothing,” he amends. “I suppose I’m calling in an anonymous tip?”

“It’s not anonymous if I know it’s you,” Arthur says. Merlin can hear him rolling his eyes to the ceiling and back.

“Prat.”

“Tell me, then. I have a meeting in five.”

“Remember I told you I heard some guys talking about the Priestesses and stuff that one time?” Merlin says. Arthur hums. “They were at it again, only… it was different.”

“How?”

“Well, they were talking about another meeting,” Merlin says, “and then the one guy got all annoyed because one of the others wanted out.”

“Get to the point, Merlin,” Arthur sighs. He pauses, then shouts, “I’m coming, Leon!”

“They outright said that the place where the last riot took place was where they used to have some meetings,” Merlin says, “and that they needed this guy who wanted to leave to set up the new location.”

“And?”

“Here, at the factory, apparently,” he finally says. “I don’t know where, but they said they’d be putting the mark out today for tomorrow night’s meeting.”

“Great,” Arthur says. Merlin can hear a pen scratching away hurriedly. He puts the pen down. “I have to run, but thanks. I’ll see you later, yes?”

“As usual,” Merlin says with a chuckle. “I hear Morgana’s picked the dates.”

“Gwen told you?”

“Yep. We’ve got about six weeks until showtime,” Merlin says. “I’m still not sure how we’re doing this, us being guys, the show being about women. Are we doing dresses or is Morgana just leaving us as we are?”

“There’s no way she’s getting me into a giant pink dress,” Arthur says firmly.

“You’d look better in lilac.”

Arthur pauses.

“Thanks,” he says slowly. “I’m sure Gwen’s got it all worked out, though.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, a shadow of awkwardness cast over their conversation yet again. Ever since Merlin had bolted from Arthur’s car on Saturday night, things between them randomly took uncomfortable turns without warning and just as quickly returned to normal. Merlin hates it, but he knows he made the right decision.

“I’ve really got to run,” Arthur says, breaking Merlin’s chain of thought. “See you tonight.”

Arthur hangs up before Merlin can say another word. He sighs and hangs the phone up in its receiver. The whistle blows and he starts making his way back to his building in the factory. As he crosses the smoking pit, he glances across the street and sees someone almost parallel to him on the opposite curb. It’s bright and hot out, and Merlin’s too tired to really try and figure out who it is, but the man – or boy? – is watching him. Merlin hurries back inside and starts counting down the hours to the end of the day.

\---

“Lance!” Merlin shouts as he walks into their flat. “Lance, tell me you have something I can eat before rehearsal.”

When Merlin gets no response, he drops his bag by the door and looks into the kitchen. Lance is usually cooking when he gets home, and if he’s at Gwen’s, he always lets Merlin know in the morning before they leave for work. Today, though, Lance took the day off to interview for some jobs in the Citadel and promised him dinner.

“Lance?”

Something crashes in the back of the flat in Lance’s room. Merlin hurries back. He finds Lance on the floor, half under his bed.

“Need some help?”

Lance pops out and nods feverishly. Merlin reaches out wit his magic. All he finds under the bed are a few stray socks and a small box. He pulls them all out. Lance quickly takes the box and holds it between his hands. Merlin stares at it.

“Is that—?”

“Yes,” Lance breathes. “I’m going to propose to Gwen.”

He opens the box and reveals a gold ring with a single diamond. The band looks more like golden vines entwined, the setting of the diamond like a blooming flower.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs.

“You think she’ll like it?”

“Well, she’s getting you, isn’t she?”

Lance grins sheepishly. He closes the box and pockets it.

“I was hoping you could help me,” Lance says. “I want to make it special. I don’t care if she knows what’s coming. I just want to show her exactly how much I love her.”

Merlin can’t help but laugh.

“You’re disgustingly sweet, Lance,” he says, patting his arm. “I’ll help however I can.”

Lance hugs him tightly, catching Merlin off-guard.

“You’re a good friend, Merlin,” he says as he lets him go. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’ve done nothing yet,” he says, looking away.

“Aye, but I trust you will,” Lance says, clapping his shoulder. “Can I tell you some ideas I have before Arthur gets here?”

“Of course, but – what about the interviews?”

“Oh! That’s why I went ahead and got the ring – you know I can barely afford this flat,” Lance adds. A massive grin splits his face. “I got the job at the Department of Magical Enforcement.”

“No!”

“Yeah,” Lance beams. “I’m really, really pleased.”

“That’s – wow! Congratulations!” Merlin exclaims. Lance looks so happy Merlin gives him another hug.

“Thanks,” he says, still beaming intensely enough to light up the whole flat. His smile falls slightly as a thought clearly crosses his mind. “I’ll have to move once I’m assigned to a team, but that won’t be for a while.”

“Ah. Well, I assumed you’d want to move anyway, when you marry Gwen,” says Merlin. Something in him falters.

“Eventually, but we’ve talked about it,” Lance says, shaking his head. “We’re not turning you out on the streets.”

“Lance—”

“Please, Merlin. We wouldn’t do that to you,” says Lance softly. “You’re our friend. Hell, you’re practically family now.”

Merlin feels almost stricken at the word _family_.

“I haven’t even been here a month!”

“Doesn’t really matter to us,” Lance shrugs. “Does it to you?”

“Time… doesn’t matter,” he says faintly. “I just… I’m not used to something like this. Having friends outside of my parents and Will is new to me.”

Lance grips his shoulder.

“We’ll be here for you to the end, Merlin,” he says. It sounds so close to a vow, to a declaration of fealty, that Merlin feels like running again. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to make an escape. Arthur honks the car horn three times down on the street.

“We’ll figure out your proposal when I get back,” Merlin promises. Lance smiles, pulling on the ring box from his pocket again and staring at it dopily as Merlin lets himself out of the flat.

Outside in the humid summer air, Merlin doesn’t feel any better. He gets into the car and slumps.

“What’s wrong now?” Arthur asks as he starts the car.

“Nothing,” Merlin says. “Everything’s perfect, actually.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“Just… let it be, Arthur. Can we talk about something else?”

Arthur pauses. Merlin sees him looking at him with a vaguely pinched look on his face. Arthur sighs.

“Look at this,” Arthur says, reaching into the cup holder and handing Merlin a folded piece of paper. “Morgana and Gwen made it.”

It’s the flyer for the play, composed of greens and golds and fading circles in the background of two figures approaching the great Emerald City, almost cowed by its towers but still very much the central points of the painting. The dates, times, and location line the page in the border.

“It seems we’re keeping our genitalia,” Arthur notes. Merlin looks more closely and sees that, indeed, the figures are men in men’s clothing.

“Huh. Well, she could have told us that sooner,” Merlin says. Arthur snorts.

“Morgana’s not one to give anyone prior warning.”

“I believe it,” Merlin agrees. They fall quiet after a moment, but Arthur quickly interrupts the silence.

“So, it seems like Lance is joining my department soon,” Arthur says.

“How did you find out so soon? He only just told me!” Merlin exclaims.

“I always help make the final decision for new applicants,” Arthur says lightly, but Merlin can tell it’s more than that. “He sounds like he’ll make a fine officer.”

“He’s wanted a job like this all his life,” Merlin says.

“Then I’m certain he won’t let us down,” Arthur says.

“It’s not… weird for you? Since, you know. He’s with Gwen, and Gwen isn’t exactly fond of you and Morgana,” asks Merlin.

“It’s fine,” he says, shaking his head. He pulls them off the Ring Road and into the DeBois quarter. “We’ve all gotten on just fine in the last few weeks. I think the past is behind us.”

“Okay,” Merlin exhales, relieved. “Good. Gwen never really wants to talk about Morgana and the work they do together, so I’ve been in the dark.”

“They’ve always been like that,” Arthur says, smiling. “They kept to themselves, kept all sorts of secrets just to piss me off.”

“But…?”

“What?”

“You don’t really sound happy about it.”

“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Arthur says simply. He drums the steering wheel with his thumbs, then abruptly stills them. “Morgana is… a threat now.”

Arthur parks the car down the block from the Repertoire and shuts the engine off. Merlin makes to get out of the car but Arthur grabs his wrist and stops him. Merlin looks back, surprised, his heart racing all of a sudden.

“I – I wanted to apologize,” Arthur says, quickly letting go of him. “For that night, last weekend, when we… I didn’t want to be too forward or make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Oh.”

“How eloquent.”

“Thanks. For apologizing, but you didn’t need to,” Merlin says. “I’m sorry, too. I’m just … I can’t consider anything serious right now, or anything at all.”

“Ah.”

“That’s not to say I don’t want – I mean—”

Arthur chuckles softly.

“Message received,” he says resolutely, sounding a tiny bit sad and simultaneously more stoic than ever. “Let’s go before Morgana puts out a hit man on us for being late every time.”

“Arthur – I really mean it. It’s not to say I don’t want anything,” Merlin says when they’re out of the car, his skin flushing hotly. “I do. But… what I want, I can’t do right now. It’s not safe.”

“Safe?” he frowns, turning around to face Merlin. “What the hell are you on about?”

“My magic!” Merlin exclaims. “One odd move and I could obliterate the whole block. One moment of overstimulation and you’re toast. That’s—”

“That almost happened,” Arthur realizes.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says and closes his eyes, feeling like a child who accidentally broke a pot in his mother’s kitchen by staring at it for too long. Arthur pulls him into a one-armed hug and starts walking them to the Repertory.

“It’s not your fault.”

“If I hurt you, or anyone, I’d never forgive myself.” Merlin whispers. His mind flashes back to the night of the riot his first week in Camelot. Memories of accidentally starting that explosion with no provocation whatsoever haunt Merlin at night, in the quiet moments between thoughts. He hates it, and he hates himself for it and the people who got hurt because of him. He reels his emotions in when he starts to feel his magic tense up just as they enter the theater.

Merlin sags against Arthur.

“Just… give me a minute,” he mumbles. Arthur nods. They sit down on the floor next to the door to the performance hall, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, shoe to shoe.

“I haven’t heard from my family since I got here,” Merlin says quietly. “They’re busy trying to get out of Ealdor, but I thought they’d write by now.”

“It’s normal to miss them,” Arthur says.

“They’re all I have.”

“What about Lance and Gwen?” he asks.

“Well, I guess I have them now,” Merlin admits.

“And me. You have me,” Arthur says, nudging his shoulder. Merlin laughs. “You’re stuck with me for a little while longer, at least.”

“Longer than that, I hope.”

“What the hell are you two doing out here?” comes Morgana’s shrill voice. “Now is not the time for cuddling!”

“Bad day, Morgana,” Arthur scowls. “Ever had one?”

She lets out a frustrated sound.

“Fine. Stay for a few more minutes but I want both of your arses on stage,” Morgana says. “We’re polishing the first act today and tomorrow and running through on Saturday when we have Gwaine.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Arthur smirks. Morgana rolls her eyes and walks back into the theater, slamming the doors loudly behind her. Merlin dissolves into giggles at her pale, angry face, dragging Arthur down with him until they’re almost flat on the floor, limbs overlapping, realizing they’ve used up their allotted wallowing time. Merlin, feeling lighter than he has in days, decides it wasn’t a waste at all.


	8. Popular

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Popular](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_uM8bUnlGQ)

**Arthur**

 

Everything comes together on Tuesday morning. There was a stake-out by the factory set up for the last few days – since Merlin called in with his “anonymous tip” – and now they have the full report. Around the same time that the stake-out report is dropped on Arthur’s desk, Leon bursts into his office declaring that they’ve found the owner of the destroyed flat used for the rogue Druid meetings.

“We have Mary Collins in IR3,” Leon says excitedly. “You want to take it?”

Arthur shakes his head.

“I need to look into this stake-out report,” Arthur says. “I’ll come watch when I finish.”

Leon nods and walks out, bound for the interrogation room with a skip in his step.

Arthur ends up needing less than ten minutes to read through the report – twenty-three people went into the factory complex at around 1900 hours. No one emerged until after midnight, but Kay only counted twenty-one leaving via the same entrance. There’s a note that they could have taken a different exit, but if they did, they didn’t leave by the Ring Road either, since there was another officer stationed at the only exit from the Darkling quarter who also counted twenty-one.

“Weird,” Arthur mutters. He turns the page and finds a few face sketches and small stack of snapshots. Arthur makes a note to notify the rest of the department of the images.

He takes the file with him and goes down to IR3. Arthur walks into the viewing chamber behind the two-way mirror and settles in to watch, but he stands up immediately. Arthur walks to the glass and peers through. Leon is trying to get basic information out of Mary Collins, an old woman with scraggly white hair and a tattered yellow shawl hanging loosely around her shoulders. Arthur opens the file again and flips right to the face sketches. The female face in the center is the spitting image of the woman in the interrogation room.

Arthur hurries out of the chamber and knocks on the door. He pokes his head into the room and starts to call Leon out, but the woman stands up abruptly and tries to make for Arthur, held back only by the handcuffs attached to the table.

“You!” she screams. “You… you are the reason for this.”

“Uh.”

“Your father is a murderer, Arthur Pendragon!” she shouts, breathing heavily. “You will feel our revenge. You, too, will suffer the way we have. An eye for an eye, a tooth—”

“Yes, all right, we know the phrase,” Leon says, gently pushing her back into her seat while Collins continues to struggle with her restraints. Arthur backs into the hallway with Leon. “What’s up?”

“This is her,” he says, pointing at the sketch. Leon nods.

“Definitely.”

“See what else you can find out from her,” says Arthur. He shuts the folder. “When you’re done, send her to a holding cell. Wait – what have we got her on?”

“Attempted murder,” Leon says with a wide grin. “She tried to kill one of the palace guards this morning.”

“That’s not terribly surprising,” Arthur sighs. “Finish here then come find me. We’re going on a little field trip.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“The factory, then to the pub,” says Arthur over his shoulder.

“Thank god,” says Leon. “I never thought we’d get to go out for a pint on-duty again.”

“That was a fluke,” Arthur says. “The tip that the bartender was an insurgent was weak. This reason is pretty solid.”

“Whatever you say, my liege,” Leon calls after him as Arthur rounds the corner and hurries back to his office. He shouts for the team to be ready to go with their equipment on short notice. They look a little confused but Arthur’s team has never been one opposed to going out into the field and getting their hands dirty.

“Percival!” Arthur calls out from the door of his office. His head pops up from under his desk.

“Yeah?”

“Find Mary Collins’s file,” Arthur says. He nods and disappears under the desk again. Arthur, meanwhile, repacks his black bag and throws on his proper DoME (Department of Magical Enforcement) jacket. It’s definitely too hot outside for it, but it’s the only way Arthur’s plan is going to work. He clips his badge to his belt, holsters his gun, and heads out to main hall just as Leon is guiding Mary Collins out of sight. Arthur sits on the edge of Leon’s desk and watches everyone prepare to leave.

Something hits the back of his head and falls on the desk behind him. Arthur turns around and picks up the paper airplane. He already knows what it is before he unfolds it; the greens and golds bleeding through the back of the paper give it away. Percival circles around in front of him and hands him a file, smirking.

“So that’s where you’ve been sneaking off to,” he says, nodding at the flyer. Arthur smoothens it out on his knee before Percival snatches it away. Arthur flips through Mary Collins’s file, noting previous minor offenses and suspected involvement in criminal activities –  _suspected sympathizer of The Blood Guard_. Arthur stills.

“The Blood Guard,” he says. Percival is reading the flyer when he looks up. “What ever happened to them?”

“Who?”

“The Blood Guard served the High Priestesses and guarded their Underground network,” says Arthur. He walks around the desk to Leon’s computer and searches for John Collins. After a few tries, he finds what he wants: an article dating back twenty-three years to the last major fight between the King’s Men and the Blood Guard and other people with magic. So many died then that Uther was able to take advantage of the lull in their attacks to properly instate the Great Purge. Arthur skims the list of casualties, then the list of those involved, and stops halfway down the first column. “There. John Collins was with the Blood Guard carrying their weapons, so he was presumed a sympathizer, if not a member.”

“Which probably makes his mother a sympathizer,” Percival nods.

“If not a member,” Arthur realizes. His skin abruptly feels cold all over. “Shit. I think that’s it! Theses rogue Druid members are the new Blood Guard.”

“But what about that symbol they use?” Percival asks. “It’s druidic. Like, true-druids-druidic. They’re supposed to be quite peaceful people.”

“Perhaps,” Arthur says, “but it’s been a long time since anyone’s had formal contact with the true druids, if there are any left.”

Arthur sees Leon’s curly hair blur across the room out of the corner of his eyes.

“We’ll talk more in the van,” Arthur says.

He briefs the team on what they’re doing at the factory in the Darkling Quarter on the way through the Fallen Kings. Leon swerves to avoid a bystander and the flyer for the musical flutters out of Arthur’s folders. Kay grabs it out of the air and holds it up to the light so everyone in the van behind him can see it.

“Kay—”

“Starring _Arthur Pendragon_ ,” he reads, a toothy smirk spread across his face. “Ha! That’s rich, sir.”

“Is it?” he asks flatly. Kay looks up. “I’m serious. I’m happy to be part of this show.”

“No one said you weren’t,” Bedivere cuts in.

“I suppose I’m wondering why you’re part of a production of a _banned_ theatrical piece,” Kay says, ignoring Bedivere.

“Does the king know?” Percival asks.

“He does,” Arthur says, “and he approved it. Morgana is producing and directing it. Now, about the factory—”

“Arthur, don’t doubt you have our support,” Leon interrupts. “We’re with you on whatever you do.”

“Thanks, Leon,” Arthur says a little dryly.

“We’ll be right there on opening night,” Bedivere says brightly. “Right, boys?”

A cheer cuts through the van. Arthur groans and turns back around to face the road. Leon chuckles and keeps his eyes forward, his hands on the wheel.

“You’re enjoying this,” Arthur says.

“Absolutely.”

Arthur shakes his head and goes back to studying the sketches and photos from the stakeout for the rest of the drive.

\---

At the factory, they breathe in the dusty air on the lawn, take in the brown grass and graffiti-laden brick walls. They passed a few half-constructed structures, still mostly metal beams and empty spaces, abandoned years ago, on the way to the factory. Arthur knows they’re all thinking about how different this is from the Citadel. They’ve all gotten comfortable in their air-conditioned offices in the heart of Camelot while in fact the Darkling Quarter factories are heaven compared to places like Ealdor.

“Let’s go,” Arthur says, shouldering his bag securely and leading the way.

“Officer Pendragon,” a man says, bursting out of the shadows. Behind him, a door swings shut. It has a faded gold plate on it that Arthur can’t even read. “Are we due for an inspection?”

“Afraid so,” he says gruffly, looking around the dark hall. “I’m going to ask you take me to the lower halls first and we’ll work our way up.”

The foreman nods and turns away, wiping his brow. He pokes his head into his office briefly before turning around with a Very Professional Smile™ attached firmly to his face. Arthur smiles back at him, equally sincere, and lets him lead the way to what he hopes is Merlin’s building. It’s a one in three shot.

“Arthur,” Percival whispers. Arthur half-turns as they enter the inner courtyard of the factory, “you didn’t tell us exactly what we’re looking for right now.”

“We’re recruiting a friend of mine. Then I’ll fill you in,” Arthur says back. The foreman’s ears twitch at the sound of Arthur’s voice and his shoulders tense. He wipes his brow again with his handkerchief.

Arthur is well aware that the foreman of this particular factory is pure scum, a fact that’s totally impossible to ignore as they enter the first building.

“This is building A,” he says over his shoulder. The workers in the ground floor hall stiffen at the sight of the foreman in the doorway, followed by a string of government officials. Arthur keeps his back straight and descends the steps after the man down to the basement level. The smell of machinery huffing away is much worse down here; there’s no proper ventilation and every worker reeks of sweat and has eyes ringed with exhaustion. Arthur feels Percival – who once worked in such conditions before coming to Camelot City – tense beside him. Leon grips Percival’s arm tightly on his other side.

“I’ll leave you to your work, officers,” the foreman says, pocketing his handkerchief.

“Certainly but I’m going to need someone to help us with getting around the factory,” Arthur says lightly, scanning the room. His eyes settle on a familiar figure slumped against a machine at the far end of the room. “We’ll pull one of the scavengers.”

“You can’t do that. The machinery won’t run without a scavenger,” the foreman says automatically. Arthur fixes a stare on him that makes him look like he’s trying to swallow his tongue and most of his teeth.

“You’ll see that I can,” Arthur says, taking a step closer to the foreman, backing him up against the grimy railing on the platform overlooking the workspace. “The number of complaints we receive about the way you run this factory is _astounding_.”

“You’re Magical Enforcement, not Labor,” the foreman sputters.

“That’s true,” Arthur says thoughtfully, “but I’m still Arthur Pendragon, and I’m on the Council, so I’m well aware of what goes on at the Department of Labor. I can easily expedite those investigations – in fact, I _will_ , there’s no doubt, now that I’ve seen this biohazard of a factory you have – as well as claims of unequal pay and endangerment of employees, especially the use of scavengers when we have far more advanced and affordable technology available. I assure you, I’ve done my research.”

The man gapes at him.

“We’ll find someone to help us, and then they’ll get double pay for today,” Arthur says evenly, “as will the people at the machine they won’t be operating while we require their services. Is that clear, foreman?”

He says nothing. Then, after a long moment in which the foreman looks ready to vomit, he nods. Arthur takes a step back and lets him scamper away. Arthur turns back to his team.

“Nice,” Leon says. Percival gives him an approving nod. Arthur smiles back.

“Wait here. I’ll get my friend and then we’ll try and make quick work of this.”

Arthur hurries down the steps before they can start asking questions about how Arthur knows a factory worker well enough to take such a risk with the foreman for him. He cuts down the middle of the room, drawing eyes as he goes, but Arthur ignores them all, picking up the pace until he slows at the last machine on the right. It whirs loudly enough to deafen someone unused to the noise. Arthur nods at one of the weavers, who calls something out to Merlin, who, with a confused frown, turns the machine off. He turns around and that frown disappears instantly. Arthur rolls his eyes.

“Hello. I’m Officer Pendragon,” Arthur says a little too stiffly. “My team and I are conducting an investigation at the factory today. I’ll be requiring your scavenger’s help. The foreman has agreed to let you all off for the rest of the day with double pay.”

All four workers gape at him. Arthur gives them a tentative smile, and they all but bolt out of the hall before Arthur can retract his words. Merlin is staring at him with pure awe when Arthur turns back to him.

“What?”

“That was a really good thing you did,” Merlin says. Arthur shrugs and motions for Merlin to follow him. “Beth’s sister is pregnant and can’t really move around their flat much. She hated leaving her home today.”

“Good thing she’s gone to her now,” Arthur says. “Hurry up, Merlin. We’re on a tight schedule.”

That’s a lie, but Merlin doesn’t need to know that. At the top of the observation platform, Arthur grabs Merlin by the elbow and presents him to his expectant team.

“This is Merlin,” Arthur says shortly. “Merlin, this is my team.”

“Hi,” he says with an awkward wave endearing enough to even bring a twitch of a smile to Kay’s face. “Er. What exactly are we doing?”

Arthur leads them all into the courtyard, away from the workers and the foreman’s supervisors. He lets Kay present his findings from the stakeout to the team and Merlin, and then he and Leon explain the connection to Mary Collins. Arthur holds off on his Blood Guard theory.

“That’s great,” Merlin says, nodding enthusiastically, “but I still don’t see why you need me.”

“You’re going to do two things,” Arthur says. He hands Merlin the file. “Look at the faces here and tell me if you recognize any of them as people who work here. Then, you’re going to give us a tour of the place and point out wherever you see those druidic meeting symbols.”

“You want to find where they had the meeting here?” Merlin asks as the flips through the file. He bites his lip in concentration as he studies the images and sketches. Arthur forces his gaze away from his mouth before any of his team sees, though he swears he sees Leon smirking at him not a moment later.

“Yeah,” he says belatedly.

“Them,” Merlin exclaims. He points at two pictures side by side. “These are two of the guys I’ve heard talking. They work in the same building as I do.”

“What about the rest?” Arthur asks.

“No one I’m certain about,” Merlin says, handing him the file. “Shall we go, then? There’s a lot of ground to cover.”

He’s already bounding on the balls of his feet, impossibly energetic under the scorching heat in the middle of the concrete courtyard, his eyes dark with exhaustion, his arms cut and bruised from working the machines. Somehow, Merlin is more excited than any of them. And, as hard as Arthur tries to keep himself reined in, at least because he’s working, at most because _they’ve already gone through this_ , Merlin is absolutely infectious and magnetic. Arthur can’t help but mirror his excitement and take off after him, his team close behind.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

Merlin is quite possibly having the most bizarre week of his short life in Camelot so far.

He’s finally received word from his family, all of whom are well and utterly silent on the matter of leaving Ealdor and Merlin’s departure for Camelot. The letter, in fact, makes it seem like he’s gone on holiday or he’s simply moved away to brighter prospects, not because of more gruesome reasons. It’s frustrating and baffling. They do promise a letter from Will shortly, and Merlin’s certain he’ll be less cautious.

Lance took him shopping in the Citadel – rather, shopping for the perfect location to pop the question to Gwen. They were out half the night, really, and ended up getting back at around three in the morning, even though they both needed to be at work at dawn.

Then, of course, that morning Arthur bloody Pendragon showed up with his team of officers – all tall and impossibly attractive, of course; Merlin’s starting to think being heartbreakingly gorgeous is a requirement to join the DoME – and whisked him out of the machinery. It didn’t end up being particularly exciting, with Merlin showing them around the factory while covertly looking for the telltale triskelion. By the time they’re finished combing through all the places they have access to, they decided it looks like they erased all signs of the location as soon as the meeting ends.

“Either that, or it happened in the foreman’s office,” Merlin says with a resigned sigh as he slides into the corner of the booth. Arthur slides in after him and presses against his side from shoulder to knee. It’s a tight space, but it’s far from uncomfortable.

They’re in a pub now. Arthur, Merlin, and all of Arthur’s colleagues are having dinner in a random pub in the Citadel. As if Merlin didn’t think his week could get any stranger. Merlin’s never even _been_ in a pub. He’s quickly learning that Ealdor is a sadly deprived place for its lack of pubs. He moans into his first mouthful of food, drawing laughter out of everyone else at the table. Arthur’s arm rubs against his as he chuckles.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says through a mouthful of food. He swallows quickly and takes a mouthful of the best beer he’s ever had. “We don’t have places like this back home.”

“Where’s home?” Leon asks.

“Ealdor. It’s a small town a ways out from here,” Merlin says. “Nothing special.”

The team exchanges a few looks.

“Oh. Well, yeah, there’s all the problems with attacks and hate crimes, but really only people like you seem to know about that,” Merlin adds hurriedly. He takes another mouthful of food before he can say anything else stupid.

“Probably true,” Leon says. “I hope you didn’t experience it. I’ve heard it’s pretty rough out there.”

Merlin shrugs and sips his beer. They drop it after that, but that doesn’t stop them from asking Merlin about his family, what he’d studied at uni, what he hoped to do in Camelot.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” Merlin admits. “I haven’t exactly got a marketable skill.”

“You have a degree.”

“A useless degree,” Merlin says. “I’m quite good at being useless,” he adds, nudging Arthur.

“You can’t even find your own backside most days,” Arthur agrees, the others chuckling in response. But then he says, “You helped us a lot today, though. We’re closing in on this because of you.”

“I really didn’t do much,” Merlin mumbles, ducking his head, caught off-guard.

“Don’t be modest,” Leon says. He’s beaming at Merlin when he looks up. “You’ve done us a service, Merlin. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Merlin knows he’s blushing – he has so little control over his face, it’s horrible – and it only gets worse when he realizes Arthur’s looking at him curiously, kindly, in a way that makes Merlin wish they were alone in the pub rather than with his friends, and wish he weren’t a ticking time bomb of broken magic.

Someone clears his throat and launches into a recap of the latest football match between Camelot and Mercia. Most of the rest of the team joins in, but Arthur remains a quiet presence at Merlin’s side.

“You all right?” Merlin asks, elbowing him. Arthur jumps at the sharpness of his bones before relaxing next to him again.

“I’m fine, Merlin,” Arthur replies almost too quietly to be heard amid the noise. “Long day.”

“You’re telling me,” Merlin snorts.

“I’ll get us another round,” Arthur says, peeling himself away from Merlin’s side.

“I’ve got to head home,” Percival says with an apologetic smile. “My kids want to go to the movies tonight.”

“My wife just texted,” Kay says, flashing his phone. Everyone but Arthur and Leon leaves the pub before Arthur can get up to go to the bar.

“So. You’re Merlin Ambrose, then,” Leon says as soon as Arthur’s out of earshot. Merlin looks at him sharply, heat flaring on his face. “You’re the one who doesn’t exist in the system.”

“Er. Apparently?” he says. “I haven’t got a damn clue why.”

“Fair enough. It’s just strange, is all,” Leon says. “You’re also in the musical with Arthur, yes?”

“Yes….”

“I’m going to make a suggestion to you, then,” Leon says. He leans a little closer across the table. “Do not cross Morgana Pendragon, and if you can, don’t tell her things she doesn’t need to know about you.”

“I already know she’s bad news,” Merlin says, lowering his voice.

“Then… you probably know why Arthur’s in the show,” Leon says. He frowns, eyebrows furrowed. Merlin nods. “Is that going well for him? Being undercover?”

“I don’t know,” he replies. “We’ve been so busy with the actual play that there hasn’t exactly been time to spy on the cast.”

“Are you helping him, then?”

“I’m trying to.”

“Good,” Leon says firmly. Merlin looks at him in surprise. “Arthur is a man with a heavy heart, and he thinks he has to do all the hard jobs on his own. If he’s let you in….”

“I’ll do my best,” Merlin promises. Leon gives him an approving smile, which relaxes a knot in Merlin’s chest he didn’t know was present.

“What are you talking about?” Arthur asks, returning with three beers. Merlin drinks his hungrily, trying to drown an inexplicably protective feeling at the sight of Arthur.

“Nothing much. Look, I’ve got to run. Mary’s just texted and she needs me home,” Leon says. He clips his phone to his belt and takes a sip of his beer. “See you tomorrow Arthur. Nice meeting you, Merlin.”

“Likewise,” he calls after him, waving. Arthur slumps ever so slightly in his seat. Merlin elbows him. “Come on. Drink up.”

“We’ve been abandoned,” Arthur pouts.

“It’s all right. You’ve still got me,” Merlin says cheerily.

“God help me now,” Arthur mutters, taking up his beer all the same. He lightly taps the side of Merlin’s glass before they settle into an unspoken contest of who can drain their drink faster.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

“Stay on the curb,” Arthur tells the driver as he kicks the door open and eases a very drunk Merlin out of the car. Merlin is all smiles and warm light touches that are more than enough to weather Arthur’s defenses against him. He clings to Arthur’s shoulders, pressing Arthur’s arm where he’s wrapped it around Merlin’s waist more tightly to his body. Arthur opens the door to the apartment building and starts hauling Merlin up the stairs.

“Don’t make me do all the work, Merlin,” Arthur grunts, shoving Merlin a step ahead of him. He sways and Arthur has to steady him by the hips. He pauses and gets his own somewhat-inebriated body under control. He’s nowhere near as far gone as Merlin, but he’s certainly not sober, not after two (or three?) more rounds of beer.

“I like you, Arthur,” Merlin says suddenly. He hangs off Arthur’s neck but he walks up the stairs otherwise on his own. Arthur knocks on Lance’s door and waits for him to answer.

“No one’s home,” Merlin mumbles. “He’s proposing soon.”

“Lance? To Gwen?”

“Aren’t they perfect and happy?” Merlin says with a deep, content sigh. “I hope they’re always like this.”

“I hope so, too,” Arthur says. “Where’s the key?”

Merlin waves at the doormat. Arthur unlocks the door and gets Merlin into the flat.

“Today was nice,” Merlin says as they stumble to his room. The bed is a mess, and the desk is no better, littered with papers and books and take-away menus. There’s an unopened letter on the desk, too, but Merlin doesn’t notice. “Your friends are nice.”

“They’re like brothers to me,” Arthur says, dropping Merlin onto the bed. He hopes Merlin’s too drunk to remember him taking his shoes off for him; somehow, he knows Merlin would never let it go. Arthur barely holds back a smile at the thought of the potential teasing.

“I don’t have friends, you know,” Merlin says, twisting away toward the pillows before Arthur can get one shoe off. Arthur climbs on the bed and tells Merlin to hold still. “It’s better that way, but I liked feeling like I had friends today.”

“You have me,” Arthur says before he can stop himself.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Merlin says. He sighs contentedly, smiling at the ceiling. “Are we friends?”

“Yep,” Arthur says, grunting as he wrestles the second shoe off of Merlin’s foot. “But… what about Will?” he asks, immediately regretting the question.

“Will’s like my brother,” Merlin says. “Wasn’t always like that. You don’t really suck your brother’s cock, do you? God, that’s weird! Nah. Will knows me too well, and I know him.”

Arthur would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous in that moment.

“What’s that even mean?” he asks. He knows he shouldn’t ask, because Merlin’s drunk and he probably wouldn’t divulge this information sober, but Arthur can’t bloody help it.

“Means he wouldn’t like you,” Merlin says with a giggle. He sits up, one leg still in Arthur’s lap so he’s almost straddling him, and plucks the sleeve of Arthur’s t-shirt a few times before rolling the soft material between his fingers. “I like you, though, so Will can deal with it.”

“You should sleep, Merlin,” Arthur says, gently pressing Merlin’s shoulder back onto the bed. Merlin, with his limp tentacle-arms, tries to trap Arthur with him, but Arthur has enough sense not to let him. He ducks out of the room to get Merlin a glass of water. When he returns, Merlin’s snoring lightly, curled up around one of his pillows like he’s protecting it. Arthur takes the corner of the sheets and covers Merlin before silently letting himself out of the flat.

He feels exhausted and hollow when gets into the car where his driver – who he only calls on such occasions of unexpected drinking – is waiting.

“Where to, sire?”

“The palace. And Mal,” Arthur adds, “I’d thank you not to mention this whole excursion to my father.”

“I’ll tell him you wanted to go for a ride,” he says, nodding.

“Good. Thanks.”

Arthur scrubs his face with his hands and sits back to watch the Citadel grow and concentrate into the imposing walls of the palace through the windows. He trudges up to his rooms, hoping to go straight to bed, but there’s really no ending this day, not when Morgana’s sitting there at his desk, tapping away at her phone.

“What do you want?” Arthur asks.

“Oh, you’re in a good mood,” Morgana smirks. “I take it you spent your night off productively?”

“I was out at the pub with the team and Merlin,” Arthur says. He throws his DoME jacket on the floor and walks into the bathroom.

“How are things going with Merlin?” Morgana asks.

“I told you not to talk to me when I’m peeing, Morgana,” Arthur shouts.

“Then don’t respond to me when I do!”

“I’m too tired for this,” Arthur mutters. He washes up for the night and steps out in his pajamas.

“Are you drunk?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Can’t I just go to bed?”

“God, I forgot how whiny you get,” Morgana says. She gets up from his desk and, rather than walking out like Arthur expects, she pulls the covers back on his bed and pours him a glass of water.

“Why are you here?”

“Just wanted to chat about the show, but I see that’s not happening now.”

“How did you know I’d come here instead of my flat?”

“I had a hunch,” Morgana says.

“A Vision, then?”

“I don’t get Visions over petty things like where you’re sleeping for the night, Arthur,” Morgana says, rolling her eyes. He hops into the bed and relaxes against he calming coolness of the sheets. “Magic is far more complex than you realize.”

“Oh, I think I realize,” Arthur murmurs, half-speaking into his pillow. Morgana doesn’t hear him, thankfully. He turns away from her. She switches off his lights.

“Drink some water before you sleep,” she says softly, pressing the glass to his lips. Arthur opens his eyes and sits up. He drinks the whole glass dutifully. Water at the palace always tastes a little better and ever so slightly like roses, in a way. Morgana puts the glass aside and withdraws from the room. Arthur feels himself drifting into an easy sleep almost as soon as she closes the door and the last sliver of light from the hallway darkens.

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

Gwen is at the counter ringing up a customer when the door opens. She thinks it’ll be Lance, who was in the Citadel for some training at the DoME headquarters; she sees the dark-colored uniforms and doesn’t think twice at first. Her customers thank her and hurry out the door.

“How can I help you?” she says brightly. Gwen blinks. They’re not from DoME, they’re from the King’s Men, judging by the crown-sword-and-dragon insignia on their uniforms.

“Are you Guinevere Smith?” one of the men asks.

“I am,” she said, frowning.

“Are you the creator of these flyers?” a second officer asks, slamming a sheet of paper on her counter. It’s the notice about the town hall-style meeting for the block.

“I am. I checked the regulations, I didn’t think I was violating any of them,” says Gwen. “I even got a DoME officer to sign off on them.”

She points at Arthur’s signature in the corner of the page.

“You’re not violating any rules, ma’am. We just had a few questions for you.”

“Can I see some identification?”

The officer looks beyond displeased, but he shows her his badge. Gwen waits until the others do as well.

“Ms. Smith we have a couple of questions for you.”

“Regarding what? These flyers?” Gwen asks incredulously. “I’m sorry, officers, but if I haven’t broken any rules, I don’t see why you’re here.”

“We’re here regarding your involvement with the Druid group.”

“I still don’t understand, officers,” Gwen states. She hears their car running outside.

“Watch your tone, lady, we are members of the King’s Men.”

“I understand that, and I also know my rights. I don’t have to answer anything here or at the station. Unless you have charges against me, I don’t have to go anywhere.”

The whole group is silent.

“There’s no crime in having magic or being friends with sorcerers,” Gwen says quietly. “Good day, officers. You’re distressing my customers.”

The head of the group looks at her with venom, but he leads the charge out to where they left their van running. Gwen sags against the counter as soon as they’re gone.

Gwen keeps on sketching and planning until the shop empties out. It’s the best distraction she can muster, as the shop stays quiet after the officers left. The bells on the door ring as Lance strides into the shop. She looks up and does a double take: he’s dressed in full uniform, hat and all, looking unbearably handsome.

“Look at you,” she says softly. “This is your dream coming true.”

“I have lots of dreams,” Lance says, reaching across the counter. “This is just one of them.”

He cups her face and kisses her gently. She wants to tell him what happened with the King’s Men, but Lance takes all that tension and worry out of her with a small kiss. _It’s better not to ruin this for him. It’s nothing, anyway._

“My lady. Would you care to accompany me to dinner?”

“We just went out for our anniversary!” she says with a laugh.

“I know,” he says simply, “but I want to do this for us. We’ve been so busy with work and the play and now the meeting your organizing with Druid. I want to catch up.”

“What about—what about Morgana?”

“That too. I want to talk it,” he says, “but because I know you’re upset. I don’t know what happened when she came to yours for tea, but I know something is bothering you.”

Gwen looks at him with wonder.

“You really do know me.”

“I should hope so,” he grins. “So, my lady. Is it a date?”

Gwen leans across the counter to peck his cheek.

“Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

By the time Friday rolls around, Arthur is far from happy.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin asks the moment he gets into the car on Friday evening.

“A lot of things,” Arthur mutters, starting the car. “My department was robbed this week. Specifically, the evidence lock-up was broken into and someone got away with the logbook we found at the scene of the riot a few weeks ago.”

“Whoa. How the hell did that happen?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here, would I? I’d be finding the bastards who took it,” Arthur snaps. Merlin glares at him.

“Well it’s obviously the same people you’ve been looking for,” Merlin says. “The insurgents, Morgana’s people, whatever you want to call them.”

“The Blood Guard,” Arthur sighs. “I’m certain that’s who they’re trying to be.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything. Arthur doesn’t really have the patience to explain it to him now. He veers onto the Ring Road as it starts to rain.

“What else?” he presses. “There’s something else.”

“It’s just bad, Merlin. They know we’re close, so they’re going to go deeper into hiding,” Arthur says, shaking his head. “If we don’t get them now, we may never find them.”

“Or….”

“Or, what?”

“Or they’re sick of running and decide to start something,” Merlin says slowly. “They’re pissed, Arthur. They don’t want to be caught, but it sounds like they’re almost ready to take a stand.”

“Great,” he says sarcastically. “That’s definitely the better option.”

“I never said that. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, thanks for your help, Merlin, but I don’t need it right now,” Arthur says. He wants to take the words back almost immediately.

“Don’t be an arse, Arthur,” he shoots back. “You sure as hell need my help.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

Arthur says nothing, and Merlin doesn’t budge either. They’re silent all the way to the theater. For once, they’re early, so Arthur turns the car off without getting out.

“Mordred likes you,” Merlin says.

“Huh?” Arthur blinks, turning to face him.

“He does,” Merlin says simply. “It’s nothing weird. He’s with Kara, obviously, and he loves her, but he’s got a bit of a thing for you. No one knows much about them, but I think Mordred’s your best bet.”

“For what?”

“For finding out about the insurgent nest? Basically the whole reason you’re even in this play, remember?” Merlin says slowly.

“Oh. Yes,” Arthur says. “Mordred… is a nice boy.”

“Yeah,” Merlin snorts. “He’s nice.”

“Morgana’s fond of him, too,” Arthur notes.

“All the more reason to stay close to him,” says Merlin.

“Why don’t you do it?” Arthur asks. “Morgana’s probably on high alert now, especially if she and her allies felt like they needed to steal their logbook back. If I try anything with him, it’ll look suspicious.”

“That’s true,” Merlin nods, biting his lip thoughtfully. Arthur forces himself to look out at the street rather than Merlin’s lips. “That’s definitely true. I’ll try.”

“He likes you, too,” Arthur says reassuringly. “You’re good at this sort of thing.”

Merlin smiles hugely at him.

“So d’you know what’s on the agenda today?” Merlin asks. “I thought Morgana said something—”

“Oh, _shit_. It’s Friday.”

“Yes…?”

“ _Popular_ ,” Arthur moans, covering his face with his hands. After a moment, Merlin makes a surprised sound.

“Oh, god. _That’s_ what you’re supposed to do today?”

“Yeah, but I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to prepare,” Arthur says wearily. “Morgana’s not going to be happy.”

“Not at all,” Merlin says gravely.

“Some help you are,” Arthur snaps.

“I have full confidence you can pull this off,” Merlin says seriously, only to burst into giggles not a moment later. He laughs himself halfway onto the floor of the car. “Christ, Arthur.”

“I know.”

“Galinda’s a little pink Chihuahua in this song and you’re… not. You’re like a big yellow lab, but today you’re an angry puppy or something,” Merlin goes on, still laughing. He slows down and his face colors brilliantly when he realizes what he’s said. Arthur can’t help but smile at that.

“It’s called acting, I suppose,” Arthur says, unbuckling his seat belt. “I’ll manage.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t practiced—”

“To hell with that,” he says. “I’ll be damned if I let Morgana win this one.”

“Er. Is it really about winning here?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Arthur insists. He gets out of the car and opens Merlin’s door for him. “We were raised to be competitive.”

“I never would have guessed,” Merlin mutters. They jog to the theater and go inside. They can hear the chatter in the performance hall, meaning almost everyone is there, but they haven’t started just yet.

“Arthur—”

Merlin grabs his arm and pulls him back.

“What, Merlin?” he asks, exasperated.

“I’m sure Morgana’ll let you do it tomorrow if you ask nicely,” Merlin says.

“Not a chance. I don’t need more time anyway,” he says bracingly.

“Don’t be a cabbagehead! It’s gonna be one hell of a stretch.”

“Well,” Arthur says, grinning hugely at Merlin, sings, “ _these things are meant to try us!_ ”

Merlin groans, and Arthur takes his chance to walk away and face Morgana head-on.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

 _It’s going to be a disaster_ , Merlin thinks as they prepare the set. They’ve finally got all the props and the fittings start next week for the costumes. The running dates are approaching fast. Merlin feels the familiar thrill of everything coming together, but he can’t help but worry – there are much bigger things happening around them and within this silly production.

Then he looks up and watches Arthur walk on with a bright pink feather boa thrown around his neck. Merlin sags against the bed they’ve set up on the stage, not sure whether to laugh or cringe. Gwen appears on the other side of the bed to add the last pillow.

“Gwen,” Merlin says imploringly, “tell me I’m not going to die of second-hand embarrassment.”

“Arthur’s more than capable of doing this,” Gwen says, though she’s red in the face from holding back laughter. She fluffs a few pillows, her new engagement ring glittering under the intense stage lights. “We all did Rocky Horror a few times in secondary. He was Frank N. Furter every time.”

Merlin gapes at her.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am. Sure, he might be a bit rusty now, but Arthur’s done things like this before,” Gwen assures him. “Morgana wouldn’t let him near her stage if she didn’t think he could do this.”

“Frank N. Furter. Really?”

He really is fixated on the idea of Arthur in a corset and fishnets. Gwen laughs.

“ _Yes_ , Merlin. There might even be a recording of a performance somewhere in my flat,” she adds conspiratorially. She looks past him and hops off the bed. “Showtime, Merlin! Good luck keeping a straight face.”

Merlin turns back around as Arthur drapes the boa over the post of the bed and shoots Merlin a winning smile, his hair shining under the spotlight.

 _Oh, god_.

“All right! Everyone off but Merlin and Arthur!” Morgana shouts. Merlin gets off the bed and walks off stage-left where Arthur’s waiting. Out in the audience, everyone is settling in as if this is the show they’ve been waiting to see.

“You doubt me, Merlin,” Arthur says, giving him a confident, challenging look. “You shouldn’t.”

“Gwen said you were Frank N. Furter.”

Arthur has the good grace to blush at that.

“And… go!” Morgana shouts.

Arthur throws his arm around Merlin and they stumble onto the stage, Arthur laughing almost hysterically.

“Your very first party _ever_? Your very first party!” Arthur/Galinda exclaims, leading Merlin/Elphaba over to the beds. “Oh, I know! Let’s tell each other something we’ve never told anyone.”

He hops onto his own violently pink bed. Merlin watches him from the edge of his bed with vague curiosity.

“I’ll go first,” Arthur/Galinda says, taking a deep breath, “Fiyero and I are going to be married.”

He makes an excited, squealing sound as he throws himself back into the mountain of pink pillows. Merlin stares.

“Uh. Really? He’s asked you already?” Merlin/Elphaba asks.

“No, he doesn’t know yet!” Arthur/Galinda says, sitting up and waving Merlin off. Merlin barely registers the laughter beyond the stage. Arthur sets his eyes on Merlin, brimming with excitement and energy Merlin really didn’t think he had in him, considering how grumpy he’d been in the car. “Now, _you_ tell me a secret.”

“Like what?”

They go through the whole exchange about the bottle under Elphaba’s pillow, Arthur’s gasps at his admission about Elphaba’s father hating him totally spot-on. It gets harder to stay in character as it’s increasingly clear how absolutely _perfect_ Arthur is in this scene – and in the role, really. By the time the reach the opening notes of the song, Merlin knows he’s going to struggle getting to the end of the scene.

 

“ _Elphie_ ,” Arthur says seriously, taking Merlin by the shoulders, “ _now that we’re friends, I’ve decided to make you my new project._ ”

 

“ _You really don’t have to do that._ ”

 

Arthur hops on the bed and settles next to Merlin with a bounce.

 

“ _I know_ ,” he says sweetly, “ _that’s what makes me so nice._ ”

 

Someone in the audience snorts loudly (probably Elena, Merlin realizes). He bites his lip. Arthur clears his throat and turns toward the audience.

 

“ _Whenever I see someone_

_Less fortunate than I –_

_And let’s face it, who isn’t_

_Less fortunate than I? –_

_My tender heart tends to start to bleed!”_

 

He slides off the bed and sings at the audience with a startling amount of intensity,

 

“ _And when someone needs a makeover_

_I simply have to take over!_

_I know –_ I _know exactly what they need.”_

 

Arthur turns back to Merlin and grabs the glasses off his face.

 

 _“And even in your case,”_ he sings, pausing to squint at Merlin without the glasses on. He twists his lip and shakes his head. He replaces the glasses on Merlin’s face, singing,

 

_“Though it’s the toughest case I’ve yet to face,_

_Don’t worry, I’m determined to succeed!_

_Follow my lead and yes indeed_ ,” he sings, motioning for Merlin to join him in the middle of the stage between the beds.

 _“You… will… be…,”_ Arthur lowers his voice one notch on each word until he says breathlessly, full of awe and authority, waving a hand across their view of the audience,

 

_“Popular!”_

 

Merlin very nearly loses it there right along with the audience.

 

_“You’re gonna be popular!_

_I’ll teach you the proper ploys_

_When you talk to boys,_

_Little ways to flirt and flounce, oh!”_

 

Merlin lets Arthur manhandle him across the stage to Galinda’s bed and sit him down on the end. Merlin’s certain he’s never heard Arthur sounds so _peppy_ about anything, but thus far, he’s managed to keep a straight face and stay as mildly amused as Elphaba.

 

_“I’ll show you what shoes to wear_

_How to fix your hair…_ ”

 

He's actually running his hands through Merlin’s hair a few times for good measure, his fingers on Merlin’s scalp and neck sending shocks and heat right to Merlin’s core. But then he’s dancing around Merlin again, all loose and happy and utterly _impossible_ because this is Arthur bloody Pendragon singing about teaching Merlin slang and how to be good at sports (it’d never work, Will’s tried), hugging him around the neck from the back being incredibly warm and adorable, and Merlin just has to let it go.

Arthur releases him and stands upright on his knees on the bed next to Merlin, looking out at the audience with as serious an expression as he’s ever seen on the man’s face. It’s his _don’t doubt me_ look.

 

_“Not when it comes to popular._

_I know about popular!_

_And with an assist from me_

_To be who you’ll be_

_Instead of dreary who you were – er, are._

_There’s nothing that can stop you_

_From becoming popul-er – LAR.”_

 

Arthur looks back at Merlin as he corrects Galinda’s pronunciation and winks at him.

 

 _“La la la la!”_ he sings nasally, dancing across the stage in half-hearted leaps and exaggerated turns. He even throws in a pirouette for good measure. Merlin’s lip is probably bleeding given how hard he’s trying not to laugh at Arthur right now. He’s using all the energy in his body not to throw himself back on the bed and give up right then and there.

 

_“We’re gonna make you pop-u-lar!”_

 

The rest of the song goes by in a blur of Arthur’s ridiculous dancing and his carefree touches. The short scene where he tries to teach Merlin how to ruffle his hair sticks with him, probably since he actually has to do something other than sit on the bed and watch Arthur prance around the stage. Merlin can’t even hide the blush on his face that just won’t go away by the time he has to run off stage (Arthur saying in his ear, _“Look at you; you’re beautiful,”_ is probably part of the reason), leaving Arthur momentarily sad. He sees his face in the hand mirror and perks up instantly, and it’s probably the most Arthur-ish moment of the whole scene.

 

_“And though you protest,_

_Your disinterest,_

_I know clandestinely,”_ he sings clearly, knowingly, kneeling on the end of his bed.

_“You’re gonna grin and bear it_

_Your newfound popularity. Ha!_

_La la la la!_

_You’ll be popular –_

_Just not quite as popular as me!”_

 

He punches the air, victorious, the mirror in his hand more like a sword than anything, and Arthur is the clear winner of the challenge, if the state of the audience is anything to go by. Merlin’s had the chance to calm down backstage, marveling at Arthur as he finishes the song, but the rest of the cast is in half in stitches, half cheering and clapping. Arthur jumps off the bed and bows deeply. He salutes someone – surely, Morgana – and walks off stage to where Merlin’s waiting.

“Well?” Arthur says as soon as he reaches him, throwing an arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “What’d you think?”

Merlin pauses, pretending to think.

“It was all right.”

“All right,” Arthur repeats. Merlin feels his body sag ever so slightly.

“No, you dolt, that was fucking incredible! How the hell did you manage to pull that off?” Merlin exclaims.

“Years of improv,” Arthur says nonchalantly.

“Sure,” Merlin snorts. “Whatever you say.”

“What other reason could there be?”

“You had a brilliant co-star to play off of,” Merlin says seriously. He looks at Arthur. “It can’t have been that hard to be good if you were up there with me.”

“You’re right. You’re pretty brilliant, Merlin.”

“Uh. What?” Merlin stammers. He wasn’t exactly expecting him to agree.

“Though you didn’t do anything but let me dance around you in this scene, so I’m gonna go with it was all me and my incredible skills,” Arthur says. He smiles at Merlin happily, all traces of stress and anger from earlier gone now.

“Oi, I’m a martyr for making it through all that with a straight face! Show a little respect.”

Merlin shoves Arthur. He looks affronted until he sees the grin on Merlin’s face.

“Oh, I’ll show you—”

Arthur shoves him back, almost sending Merlin into a sprawl on the floor. Merlin runs away, riding the momentum, until Arthur catches up with him, only they’re on the edge of the stage, just beyond the curtains and out of sight of the audience. Arthur is grinning madly when he stops next to him on the wall.

“Maybe we can work on some of the songs together sometime,” Merlin says breathlessly.

“For once, Merlin, you have a good idea,” Arthur says, jostling his shoulder, his smile turning from mad to fond.

“Boys!” Morgana screeches from the audience. “We’re moving on! Quit snogging back there and get to work moving the beds out of the way! And no shagging on them during your break!”

They do what she says, knowing better than to incite Morgana’s ire.


	9. I'm Not That Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm Not That Girl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gS9Q_cbr9d8)

**Arthur**

 

Uther regards him with a cool gaze over the top of his newspaper.

“You say nothing has been found on the people Morgana has acquired for her production?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Arthur says. “For some of them there’s nothing but a school record, but no one has raised any flags.”

“And you’ve seen nothing?”

“I’m keeping track of who is likely with Morgana’s people,” Arthur replies, “but I’ve nothing to act upon. I can’t do anything but watch right now.”

“You need to take a more active stance, Arthur,” Uther says. He folds his newspaper and sets it aside. “The winds are shifting. War is coming.”

“War?” Arthur repeats. “Like, well and proper _war?_ ”

“Yes,” Uther says calmly. “We’re beyond prepared for this when it comes, but it seems that it’s on the horizon. You must be wary. Watch for signs of restlessness among these people.”

“I think the insurgents are a new Blood Guard,” Arthur blurts.

“What did you say?” Uther says, eyes narrowing.

“Blood Guard. It’s a hunch, based on one person’s prior associations with them,” he explains, “but it makes sense if the Priestesses are at the heart of all this, even if they’re not true High Priestesses.”

“They’ve been quiet lately,” Uther murmurs. “It’s time for them to act.”

“They stole evidence from the last riot from my department.”

“I know,” Uther says. He stands up and walks over to his decanter to pour out a drink. He offers it to Arthur, but he refuses. Uther returns with his whiskey and says, “Because of this act we know the war is coming. There hasn’t been so blatant an act of invasion in a long time.”

“It’s certainly a criminal act but… calling it an invasion is rather strong,” Arthur says tentatively.

“It is not,” Uther says, placing his glass on the desk tensely. “If these insurgents get to the Underground – if Morgana succeeds, we will have bigger problems than break-ins and thefts.”

Uther pauses.

“Blood Guard, you say?” he says distantly. “I’ll have that looked into.”

“Father—”

“I want you to close this case before Victory Week,” Uther says, standing up. He gathers his newspaper and drains his glass. “I want everything to be in order in time for the celebrations.”

“You want me to stop Morgana _and_ find the insurgent nest in three weeks?” Arthur sputters.

“Yes,” Uther says. “Will that be a problem?”

“No, sir. I’ll return with updates as soon as possible,” Arthur says.

“You will be paid in due for your efforts, Arthur. I haven’t forgotten our arrangement,” Uther says on his way out of his office. Arthur stares at the empty desk and tries to relax his fists before leaving as well.

He goes straight to the Palace Archives. Geoffrey is at the desk, as always, poring over a massive, ancient tome. Arthur signs in and heads off to the restricted section. He swipes his government ID and passes through two levels of security before reaching the Great Purge Room. It’s not as full as other rooms of documents from that time, but as it’s devoted solely to the actions of the Purge rather than to the arts or the international history of the time, there are only so many records available.

Arthur pulls out a box he found last time he came down here just as he was running out of his permitted hour in the room. The box was small, hidden behind several other large boxes, but it had more information than any other in the room. The government most likely required Uther hand over his personal plans for the Purge once it ended; Arthur knows his father never would have handed over such papers without being required by the law, especially if his hatred of all things magical lived on.

He flips through the box’s contents until he reaches a small notebook. Near the back, amid the blank pages, Arthur finds several lists. He only glimpsed them last time. Now, though, he knows he’s found something vital.

_Blood Guard_

_DRUID leaders_

_~~Violent~~ _ _True Druids_

_Enemies (gen)_

There are at least ten pages of lists of names – most of which are crossed off, all of which are in Uther’s handwriting.

_Priestesses_ has one name, and it’s circled rather than crossed out: Nimueh. Under, in fine print, is the word _Gatekeeper._ Arthur recalls his conversation with Gaius. This is the woman Morgana is looking for under the Repertory. This is the woman who could still be alive in her grave after twenty-five years. Arthur shudders at the thought.

The very last list is titled _Dragonlords_. All the names but the final name are crossed off: _Balinor_. He doesn’t know the name, not like he knew Nimueh’s, but Arthur knows Gaius might.

He flips back to the _Blood Guard_ list and studies the names; Collins is there, as are other names Arthur’s come to recognize over the years, but they’re all scratched off. Arthur takes a picture on his phone of the list, then decides to do so for all the other lists.

“Just to be safe,” he murmurs.

As Arthur’s about to put the notebook back, he catches sight of a map in the box. He holds it up to the dim yellow light. It shows all of Camelot cut by a web of tunnels or paths that no longer exist. The current roads don’t match with the lines of the map. However, there are many spots marked in the area surrounding Camelot. Arthur turns the map over.

_Underground + true druid permanent sites_

Arthur photographs the map and takes a few extra pictures of the details.

When his hour is up, Arthur feels no more consoled or enlightened. He’d gone down hoping for some indications of what his father senses in the air, why he thinks war is coming, but all he sees are the remnants of genocide and victims still vey much offended and abused today. Going by what Arthur sees – meticulous plans, deliberately inhumane actions against people with magic, vague hints at mass executions stuffed at the bottoms of these boxes – he’s surprised the war hasn’t started yet.

It makes him feel ill.

He goes straight to the office, determined to solve this last case. It’s the only way Arthur knows to be able to set things right. The sick feeling doesn’t leave him until he leaves the office to pick up Merlin for rehearsal. They don’t get to sing much together, as it’s his day for the fittings, which leaves Arthur less than pleased.

\---

The next day, Leon comes into his office with a troubled look on his face.

“I think I’ve found something,” he says. He hands Arthur a printout of an old newspaper article from the height of the Purge. “Do you know who Hunith Vorten was?”

“The opera singer. Of course,” Arthur says. He once found an old record of hers tucked away behind a bookcase. It’s still safely hidden in his room at the palace. “She was outed as a sympathizer during the Purge and then she disappeared in the middle of the investigation. It’s common knowledge here.”

“Look at the picture,” Leon says. Arthur sees a woman with a kind face and fierce but warm eyes. She stands on a very familiar stage.

“That’s the Repertoire!”

“Yes,” says Leon. “The article says she was a close friend of Ygraine DeBois.”

“Which explains why she was performing in my mother’s theater,” Arthur says. “Okay. What does this have to do with anything?”

“The second picture shows her with a few other people,” Leon says. “Your mother, Gaius, and your father.”

“So… my whole family knew this woman.”

“Yes.”

“And what about this man standing with my father?” Arthur asks, pointing at the thumbnail-sized picture. It shows Uther and a man with a dark beard standing off to the side; Arthur can see Ygraine and Hunith in the background by the entrance to the performance hall.

“He’s not named,” Leon says, “but I figured he was a random patron.”

Arthur doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t press it. There’s nothing to look into further.

“So it seems like these were personal friends of your father,” Leon says slowly, “who he either had killed or drove out of the country.”

“It seems so. Are you surprised?”

“It doesn’t matter, sir,” Leon says, shaking his head. “What matters is whether these people are still alive. They could be people we’re looking for.”

“Insurgents, you mean,” Arthur says.

“Precisely.”

“I’m not sure Hunith Vorten is among the insurgents,” Arthur says, “but you’re on the right track. We’ll put together a list of names to look into.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“How are we doing in the search for the logbook?”

“Not well,” Leon winces. “We’ll find it, Arthur.”

“It doesn’t matter. We couldn’t open it,” Arthur says, shaking his head. “We should focus our efforts on finding the nest.”

Leon nods and leaves. Arthur writes up his list of missing sympathizers based on the records, and at the last second adds Hunith Vorten’s name to it.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

They’ve reached the first magical barrier. It’s the middle of the night on a Thursday, but they’ve done it. Cheers go up in the hot space under the stage saturated with dust and dirt. The first pure wall of magic shines blue in the jagged rectangular space before them. Morgana approaches it slowly, one hand outstretched, and feels nothing until she touches the magic itself.

_“Morgana Pendragon.”_

She jumps back.

“Did you hear that?” she whispers. Morgause and the others nod slowly.

_“You will find nothing here, witch. I bend for no one.”_

“Who are you?”

_“It is not your concern. You would do well, witch, to turn back now.”_

“Where is the Gatekeeper?” Morgana demands. The _thing_ , whatever it is, chuckles and falls silent. She shouts a few more times at it, but whatever spoke has decided to go back to ignore her. “Fuck!” she shouts. “Okay. We’ll press forward. Mordred?”

He nods and touches the magic. Immediately he jumps back as though shocked.

“It’ll take time,” he says, wincing, rubbing his hand. “But once we get through the first barrier, our magic will know how to proceed with the other layers.”

“Nothing we can’t handle, then,” Morgana says confidently. “We ought to call it a night.”

They murmur in assent. They’ve been at it for hours.

“Morgana,” Morgause says, approaching her, “I can’t stay long tonight.”

“I’ll call the driver, then,” she nods. “Goodnight.”

Morgause leaves, so that only Morgana and Mordred remain.

“Have you learned anything else?” she asks as soon as the trapdoor closes.

“I was walking the other day,” Mordred says. He sits down on the nearest boulder. “I came across a place where powerful magic lashed out. It was… very sad. It hurt to be near to it.”

“Where?”

“In the Darkling Quarter,” Mordred replies. “It was by a tree in the field by a textile factory.”

“And you’re certain it’s the same magic as at the riot site?” says Morgana.

“It is.”

“Emrys,” Morgana breathes. “Oh, Emrys.”

“His magic was even worse than before,” Mordred continues. Morgana doesn’t fail to note the anguish in Mordred’s voice. “It left me feeling ill for the rest of the day. I can’t imagine one person harboring all that damage in one body.”

“How recent was it?”

“Not very. A few weeks at most,” Mordred replies, “which goes to show how strong the initial blast must have been.”

He shivers at the thought. Morgana stalks over to him.

“This is good, Mordred,” she says. “He’s volatile. He’s a danger to himself. Given time… he’ll destroy himself.”

“I can’t say—”

“That’s our best case scenario,” Morgana says. “At worst, he gets control and we fight, but we can only hope he keeps causing problems for the King’s Men until then.”

“Emrys is not necessarily the enemy.”

“I can’t take that risk,” she says briskly. “We’re running out of time. We need to act soon.”

“You mean—”

“It’s time for a demonstration of our intentions, I believe,” Morgana says, starting to smile. She’s had one particular plan up her sleeve for a while now and she can’t wait to set it loose on Camelot. “Uther needs to know that we’re not backing down.”

“Uther, yes, but Emrys?”

“I will not risk it! I want him dead, Mordred,” Morgana hisses. “I want Uther’s head on a spike, and I want Emrys on his knees, head attached or not. I will not let them murder us again.”

“Morgana...”

“Enough.”

The silence between them settles like a thick slab of rock. Eventually, Mordred nods and walks away, leaving Morgana alone at the barriers. She hears a distant, low rumble – almost a laugh – before taking a steadying breath and leaving the theater. The air outside is clear and cool, clearing her head, but only a little.

She doesn’t sleep well that night; her dreams are haunted by a faceless, powerful sorcerer – a traitor at Arthur’s side standing over her with victory on his smile.

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

“What? Why did we move the event venue?” Gwen exclaims.

“Word spread through the Druid network. Seems like everyone wants to do it, so we figured… let’s do it all together,” says John. He and Mary have come by the shop to check in on the progress of their commission. Gwen’s colored pencil hovers over her sketch.

“How many people are we talking about now?”

“A lot. It’ll be at the old amphitheater in DeBois.”

Gwen feels dizzy. She went there once before for a sporting event and it was _big_.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be full. We just couldn’t find any other place that’d let us do this,” Mary adds.

“I didn’t prepare a—a speech or—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mary repeats. “We’ve got this under control. You just do your job and we’ll be back to pick you up in an hour.”

“Thank you again, for everything,” John says.

“It’s nothing. I’m not doing anything extraordinary,” Gwen says, looking down.

“You’re listening to us. These days, it’s nothing short of extraordinary, even if it shouldn’t be,” John says kindly.

Gwen accepts the compliment, if only to let it drop. They gather their things and leave the shop. The last hour of work is always either quiet or incomprehensibly busy, so Gwen settles behind the counter and waits to see what it’ll be today. She makes a shopping list for the remaining costumes she needs to make, contemplates her dinner later with Lance—wondering if tonight will be the night.

She’s known he would ask her to marry him for a while now. The day he came into the shop in his uniform, she was certain it would happen, but it didn’t. There was too much left to talk about that evening, and Morgana loomed over their heads like a cloud for the first time in many years.

“I want to be her friend,” Gwen said to him as they ate dessert. She intentionally left Morgana for the end of their talk. “But there’s still something there.”

“I know. You didn’t have a clean break. I get it,” Lance replied. He offered her a spoon of his crème brulee. Gwen shook her head.

“It feels wrong. I feel like I’ve cheated on you,” Gwen said, her voice warbling.

Lance reached for her hand and held tightly.

“Whatever it is, cheating or not, I still love you, including the part of you that might never get over Morgana.”

“It’s just—I know we’re not right for each other. I knew that in uni before we even broke up! I didn’t want to admit it then but I’ve known it for years now,” she said. Lance took the spoon out of her shaking hand and put it on the plate next to her melting ice cream. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing, Gwen. You’re human.”

“What do I do?”

“See what she wants,” Lance said. “Maybe you’re on the same page.”

“That’s the problem,” Gwen murmured.

Lilia’s Tea started the conversation Gwen knew she needed to have with Morgana before anything more happened. As she spoke to her then of only wanting friendship, she knew it to be true. Gwen knew Morgana was hoping for a different answer, but things took an odd turn when Morgana went outside to answer a call.

Gwen heard bits and pieces. She knew what she heard, but she didn’t want to understand it. Part of her knew it was dangerous, but the very possibility—Morgana and Morgause, the Priestesses?—terrified her. She tells herself she doesn’t know for certain what she heard, that none of it is confirmed.

Gwen hasn’t brought out Lilia’s Tea during Morgana’s visits since that day.

There’s a knock at the door. John and Mary are waiting outside, so Gwen locks up the last of the cases, safes, and the register before heading out.

It’s a quiet drive. Gwen knows they’re doing it because they think she’s nervous. She is, but she’s afraid. Her stomach is in knots, and it’s not the sort she knows she used to get with public speaking back in uni.

They arrive at the amphitheater. A crowd of parked cars surrounds the entrance, forming a sort of protective barrier. Inside, it’s cool, the heavy stones in the walls keeping the heat out. Gwen follows John and Mary to the stage where there’s a table set up with a few Druid members she met at the meeting along with others.

“They’re leaders of other groups,” says Mary.

There are microphones on the tables as well as one at the podium before the crowd. They’ve mostly ignored the seats in the stadium, opting to gather in the space between the seats and the stage instead.

“He’s going to speak first, then he’ll introduce you and you can talk. You’re going to be our moderator,” John says.

Gwen looks around. She sees other business owners from the neighborhood where she works as well as from other parts of the Citadel. The Druid leader starts speaking. She sees Joseph in the crowd; he gives her an encouraging smile and she returns it.

The sun hasn’t quite started to set but Gwen can see the bright colors closing in. She goes up to the microphone to speak.

“Hello. Thanks for the lovely, erm, introduction. It’s really a pleasure and an honor to be here tonight. I… I own the metalworking shop on Helios Road, Tom’s. My father started it and passed it on to me. He also passed on to me values of openness, fairness, and justice. When John and Mary came into my shop, they were my customers. When a couple of bullies followed and threatened violence, something had to be done. I’ve seen hate turn up in so many forms, particularly on Helios Road, but that was the final straw. So here we are. I want to have a dialogue between the magical community and the business owners of Camelot. I want to talk about fears and risks and those signs banning magic and sorcerers from shops. That’s what we’re here to do tonight, and we’ll do it peacefully. Maybe…,” Gwen pauses, wetting her lips, “maybe we can show the rest of Camelot how it’s done.”

The crowd goes up in encouraging applause. She grins.

Halfway through the first talk—about the signs—something changes. The crowd goes on alert. Gwen sees a few people stand up and start walking around, looking down corridors. They’re entirely closed in here in the amphitheater. Gwen feels nervous just watching them.

Then, the doors burst open. A stream of King’s Men enters the amphitheater, cutting through the crowd without a care for people and their belongings. They climb the stage and surround Gwen and the Druid leaders.

“Have you got a permit for such a large gathering, Miss Smith?” the officer asks nastily. It’s the same one from the other day. He’s dangling his badge in front of her face.

“We spoke to the proprietor of the amphitheater and have his written permission,” John fumes.

“Ah, but you see, he’s _co_ -proprietor—along with the City of Camelot government. You need a permit from us if you want to have a gathering of more than twenty people here, and,” the officer pauses, “it sure looks like you’ve got more than that.”

“This is ridiculous! You’re looking for reasons to arrest them!” Gwen bursts.

“Miss Smith, you’re who we want to talk to. If you come with us, no one else will be arrested.”

“Fine.”

“Gwen! Don’t,” Mary says, rushing to her. “It’s not your fault. We didn’t know. Hell, the proprietor probably didn’t know.”

“They’re fishing for a reason to bring me in, Mary. I don’t know why, but I’ll go. All that matters is everyone here getting home safe,” says Gwen.

“Gwen….”

“Miss Smith,” the officer interrupts. “Do we have to bring you in by force?”

Gwen looks at him with disgust, hearing the tone of his voice laced with something incomprehensibly gross. She shakes free of his hand and marches off the stage.

“I want a female officer present before we go anywhere,” she says, loudly enough for the people she walks past to hear.

“That’s—”

“Within my rights.”

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

Merlin has never seen so many candles in his life. He’s honestly afraid he’ll knock one over and set Gwen’s flat on fire, but Lance is thankfully much more coordinated than him and catches all the candles he elbows.

“Is it too much?” he asks worriedly.

“It’s perfect, Lance,” Merlin says for the tenth time.

“It’s better than any of those other places we looked at?”

“Ten times better. This?” Merlin waves at the gently glowing room, “This is beautiful. Gwen will love it.”

“You’re sure?”

“She’ll love it because _you_ did it for her,” Merlin says firmly. “Now, I’ll be off to dinner now and you can go ahead and do your thing.”

“Are you going out with Arthur again, then?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. It’s not a date,” Merlin stammers. Lance looks at him questioningly. He groans. “We’re just going to the pub, Lance. Nothing special.”

“Whatever you say, Merlin,” Lance says, throwing his hands up in surrender. He glances out the window. “Arthur’s car is parked on the street.”

“I’ll take that as my cue. Don’t be back until tomorrow, you hear?”

“Why, you planning on bringing Arthur home tonight?” Lance grins.

“No!”

Lance bursts into laughter.

“Go, Merlin, before you incriminate yourself further,” says Lance.

“Good luck!” he shouts over his shoulder before bounding out the door. Arthur honks the horn once just as he gets onto the sidewalk. “Fuck! I’m coming, you prat!”

Arthur’s laughing when he gets to the car.

“You jumped right out of your skin! You should’ve seen yourself,” he says, ignoring Merlin’s glare and continuing laughing until they’re off the street.

“You’re an ass.”

“Don’t be such a girl, Merlin,” Arthur says, looking over at Merlin and smiling. Merlin says nothing, frozen like a deer in a hunter’s path, frozen by the realization that _fuck, this is worse than I thought._

“What? Have I got something in my teeth?” Arthur asks after a moment, a confused pout on his lips.

“Oh, yeah, all over,” Merlin grins. “They’re all green and nasty.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur says. “So, I thought we’d go to a different pub tonight.”

“That’s fine,” Merlin shrugs. “So long as the beer and the food are good.”

“It’s my personal favorite, actually,” Arthur says. He glances over at Merlin almost nervously.

“Then I’m sure it’s the best,” Merlin grins. Arthur relaxes ever so slightly as they drive onto the Ring Road. “Made any progress with the insurgents?”

The tension returns immediately.

“Working on it,” he says. Merlin waits. “My father wants me to finish all this by Victory Week.”

“That’s not a lot of time,” Merlin says, eyes widening.

“I’m getting worried,” Arthur admits. “He thinks they’re going to do something big soon.”

“Does your father have a plan?” Merlin asks.

“Surely,” Arthur grimaces. “He sounded like he was looking forward to it.”

“If you do manage to find the insurgents and all that in time,” Merlin asks, “will you still do the show?”

Arthur looks at him curiously.

“I’m not sure there’ll be a production to put on,” he says. “Morgana might be among those we’ll need to arrest.”

“Ah.”

“For what it’s worth,” Arthur says. He pauses to parallel-park his car on a wide street in the heart of the Citadel. “For what it’s worth, it’s been… fun, doing this.”

“Yeah,” Merlin sighs, “it has.”

“Come on,” Arthur says. “I’m starving.”

Merlin follows him into the pub. They let the matter drop for the rest of the night, but Merlin can’t shake the feeling of sadness at the idea of not doing the show – of not seeing Arthur every day after just three more weeks.

“What’s your opinion on cell phones?” Merlin asks as they get into a booth in the back of the pub.

“Uhm. They’re very helpful,” Arthur says slowly. “Why?”

“I was thinking I should get one,” Merlin says.

“Probably not a bad idea,” Arthur says, the corner of his lips turning upward.

“Are they expensive?”

“Some aren’t, though they’re not the fancy ones,” Arthur replies.

“That’s okay,” Merlin says. “I don’t need anything special.”

“I could help. Pick one, I mean. Er, yes. If you want,” Arthur says. His face colors spectacularly as he speaks. He clears his throat.

“Is it a complicated process?” Merlin asks curiously.

“Not really….”

“Then why…?” Merlin pauses.

“I’m just trying to help,” Arthur says gruffly, his face still red. It’s a lovely look on him, really; Merlin could stare at him like this for hours and never tire of seeing Arthur so flustered. Naturally his mind wanders to other things that could fluster Arthur and make him red in the face and out of breath, but fortunately the food arrives before Merlin can make a fool of himself and start drooling because of a daydream.

“What about… horses?” Merlin asks through a mouthful of pie.

“What about them?”

“Do you like them?”

“Sure,” Arthur blinks. “Father has a horse farm out in the country. It’s near Elena’s family’s estate, actually. We used to spend a few weeks there every summer.”

“I broke my arm riding a horse,” Merlin reminisces.

“Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

“Will wasn’t either,” Merlin says. “He laughed at me all the way home.”

“He sounds like a charmer,” Arthur says flatly. He takes a massive bite of his sandwich and sits back with a pronounced pout on his face.

“Aw, why the long face?” Merlin asks, laughter bubbling uncontrollably. “Get it? Long face? Horses?”

Arthur kicks him under the table. It only makes him laugh harder.

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

The interrogation room at the King’s Men headquarters is dark and windowless. The two-way mirror stares at her blankly. Gwen still doesn’t know why she’s there, but she knows better than to say anything.

She made a call. She wonders if she made the right choice.

The door opens suddenly. The officer from earlier strides into the interrogation room. Instead of looking smug, he looks pissed. A moment later, Gwen knows why, and she sighs with relief.

Arthur walks in, thumbing through a case file as he shuts the door with his foot.

“Hi Gwen. I’m glad you called,” he says, sitting beside her.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Let’s do this, all right?” the officer says irritably.

“There’s nothing to do, officer. You don’t have a case against Miss Smith. She poses no obvious threat to the King, the royal family, or the King’s cabinet,” says Arthur. “Remind me on what charges you brought her in?”

“Unauthorized riot-sized congregation.”

Arthur skims the page in the file and snorts.

“This is absurd. City of Camelot only just got co-ownership of the amphitheater yesterday.”

Gwen stares at the page in Arthur’s file. According to John and Mary, they’d made the arrangements with the other owner a week ago. Gwen says so.

“That looks a little strange, don’t you think?” Arthur says. He points at John and Mary’s individual testimonies, also in the file.

“My client was harassed at her place of work by you and your men,” Arthur states. “Can you explain that?”

“This is _my_ interrogation room, Pendragon. I’m asking questions.”

“Certainly, sir,” Arthur says with an amused smile, sitting back.

“Miss Smith, have you ever attended a Druid meeting?”

“Yes. I went for the first time recently,” Gwen replies. “Is that a crime?”

“No,” Arthur interrupts. “It’s not.”

The officer glares at Arthur.

“I’ll cut to the chase. We’ve got word you’re with the insurgents. That you’re aiding them, sheltering them in your shop, maybe even providing them with a space to practice their black magic,” the officer says.

“Where’s the evidence?” Arthur asks. “Show us.”

Gwen can’t find her voice. It’s like her tongue has seized up. She thinks of Morgana and Morgause, of her suspicions, of the times she’s had them over for tea and planning—no, not black magic, but _costumes!_

The officer leaves the room.

“What a buffoon. He comes to an interrogation without the evidence,” Arthur says, shaking his head. “I forgot how fun being a lawyer can be,” he adds gleefully.

“Great,” she says.

“Don’t worry Gwen. They don’t have anything on you. No one knows who the Priestesses are, not for sure anyway, and same goes for the insurgents. It’s my job to know these things, remember?”

“I know,” she says, feeling breathless. “It’s just—”

The door handle starts to turn.

“Don’t talk to him. Let me do the talking and I’ll have you home with Lance in half an hour.”

“Please don’t tell him about this. I’ll tell him myself but he’ll be so upset when he finds out what happened and that I didn’t call him—”

“Gwen. Breathe.”

Arthur squeezes her shoulder.

The officer takes his seat and tosses an evidence bag at Arthur. It bounces off his chest and lands on the file. Arthur raises an eyebrow at the officer.

“Are you going to tell me what this is?”

“It’s a letter,” says the officer, “from her father Tom Smith to John Collins, a known insurgent from the Purge.”

“It’s dated twenty-five years ago,” Arthur says flatly. “My client was hardly walking and talking at the time.”

“Tom Smith clearly states in the letter to John Collins that he’s going to let him come to the shop, Tom’s Metalworks, to discuss an opportunity.”

“John Collins was unemployed and looking for work,” Arthur says. “I’m familiar with his case file from my work at the DoME. I knew Tom personally and he was a generous man willing to help those in need.”

Arthur reads over the letter.

“Gwen, do you recognize this at all?”

“No,” she says. “I don’t even know the stationary, and I helped my dad write his letters for years after he got sick. He always got the same paper.”

“There you go. There’s no mention of my client and there’s no mention of magic, insurgents, or terror plots. If you’d like I can have it sent to the lab at DoME and check for magical traces, but it will take time and paperwork. This isn’t enough of a reason to keep my client here any longer, officer.”

Arthur stands.

“Gwen? Let’s go.”

The officer stares at them.

“I’ll have it sent it to the DoMe,” he says as they reach the door.

“I’ll make sure we process it as quickly as possible,” Arthur drawls. He slams the door behind them hard enough to make the walls rattle.

“Arthur,” Gwen calls. “Arthur!”

“Come on, Miss Smith. We’re getting out of here,” he says, jaw clenched.

In the car, Arthur waits, his hands on the wheel and the ignition.

“They’re a load of assholes, grasping at straws,” Arthur says quietly.

“They’re trying to keep the King safe,” Gwen says.

“Don’t make excuses for them Gwen,” Arthur says, sounding angrier by the second. “They’re bullies, and their so-called tips come from within my father’s administration. They go through the King’s Men when they think someone’s a threat or associated with a threat but don’t have a real case against them.”

“Oh,” Gwen says. “Why would they want me? Lance works for DoME now. I’ve known you for so many years. I’m surrounded by people who fight the insurgents!”

_Except for Morgana_ , a small voice in her head says.

Arthur doesn’t reply. Instead, he starts to drive.

“Can you leave me a block away from the building?” Gwen asks. “I don’t want to worry Lance, and I know you’re supposed to go out with Merlin tonight.”

“It’s not a date!”

“I didn’t say it was,” Gwen says, finally grinning.

“It’s just the pub,” grumbles Arthur. “We’re just going because Merlin’s only been to one once before.”

“Sure,” Gwen says. She’s still smiling, so that’s a good sign. “You know, I do think you’d be good for him. I think he’d be good for you, too. You’re both better on stage when you’re together and I think that’s probably true off-stage too. Or at least it could be.”

Arthur mutters an incomprehensible response.

They arrive at Linden Street.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” he asks. “That’s not an easy thing to have happen.”

“I’m fine, Arthur. I know what my father was like and I know he did nothing wrong,” says Gwen.

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t like knowing so many people could get caught in the crossfire with what we’re doing to find the insurgents,” says Arthur. “You’re lucky. You called me. I’m sure there are countless others who didn’t have me on their side.”

“It’s true,” Gwen admits. “My friends in Druid, John and Mary, told me about how often it happens.”

Arthur says nothing, just turns off the engine.

“Relax tonight,” Gwen says. “You deserve it. You work too hard sometimes; you’ll drive yourself mad. Just enjoy hanging out with Merlin and remember what happened tonight when you go in to work.”

“I will,” Arthur says solemnly. Gwen opens the door to get out. “By the way—”

“I’ll tell Lance what happened,” promises Gwen.

Arthur drives up the street and honks the horn. Merlin comes stumbling out of the building, shouting at Arthur. It’s rather cute the way Arthur lights up, even when he’s being scolded by Merlin. Gwen can see a glow in her window: Lance is there and waiting.

She listens to her gut.

“Lance!” she shouts. He pokes his head out the window. “Come down here.”

“Certainly, my fair Romeo,” he says, laughing.

Gwen waits for him on the stoop of the building. He sits beside her with a glass of wine in hand. She sips it gingerly then sets the glass aside.

“What’s wrong?”

With no preamble, Gwen tells him everything. She even mentions Morgana’s odd conversation, though she makes it clear she doesn’t know anything for certain. He’s livid when she tells him about the officer and the arrest.

“Thank god you called Arthur.”

“You’re not mad I didn’t call you?” Gwen asks.

“Of course not! I’m not a lawyer, and I don’t have the kind of pull Arthur has. I’d have done the same thing, honestly,” Lance says.

“Oh, good. I was so afraid you’d be upset,” she murmurs, leaning her head on his shoulder. She sips more of the wine.

“I’m just happy you’re okay. That’s all that matters to me.”

“I love you,” Gwen says. She kisses his shoulder and breathes deeply. She could have stayed on the stoop forever like that, with Lance, the sunset, and a glass of wine.

“I love you too, Gwen,” he says. Lance laces his fingers through hers and pulls her to her feet. “Let’s go inside.”

Gwen follows him upstairs, careful not to spill her wine on the narrow staircase. Lance unlocks the door and opens it. Soft golden candlelight bathes Gwen’s apartment, swallowing her whole as she walks inside. There’s something effervescent, something _magical_ about the way the candles burn. _Merlin_ , she thinks, smiling.

“Gwen, there’s something I want to ask you.”

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

“Seriously,” Merlin hisses, Arthur blinking at him in mild annoyance and surprise, “you’re _way_ overdoing it.”

“You’re blind, then,” he snaps. “I’m doing just fine.”

“You’re overacting!”

“Me? At least people can hear me and understand what I’m doing,” Arthur says. “Put a little more _oomph_ into it.”

“We’ll be mic’d for fuck’s sake!”

“This isn’t some tiny theater, Merlin! You still need to enunciate!”

“ _Enunciate_ ,” he spits. “I’m sorry I haven’t taken fucking diction courses and shit.”

“What the hell is wrong? You’ve been in a pissy mood all day,” Arthur scowls.

“Sorry, your highness, but shit happens.”

Merlin snatches his water bottle off the box beside them and storms away to the other side of the stage, staunchly ignoring Arthur’s sputtering protests. He gulps down half the bottle before he manages to calm his heart and steady his magic. The tingling at the ends of his fingers subsides, and only after a minute of nothing can Merlin relax.

“Princess being a pain in the arse, is he?” Gwaine asks, sinking into the chair next to Merlin. He screws the cap on his water bottle and scratches at the label.

“A bit,” Merlin says, “but it’s not really his fault.”

“Bad day?”

“Definitely.”

“Want to talk about it?” Gwaine asks.

“Not really.”

“Is there anything else I can do to make it better?”

There’s no mistaking the suggestive tone in his voice. Merlin frowns at him.

“What about Elena?” he asks. Gwaine looks across the stage where Elena’s eating an apple and talking to one of the younger cast members and Gwen.

“It was never gonna work,” Gwaine replies after a pause. He looks down at his hands in his lap. “We’re from two very different worlds. It shouldn’t matter, but it does.”

“Why?”

“Past experience,” he shrugs.

“With Arthur, you mean.”

“He told you?” Gwaine says sharply. “What else did he say?”

“Just that things were messy and you guys weren’t on the same page,” Merlin says hastily. “Don’t tell him I told you that.”

“It’s fine,” Gwaine says, shaking his head. “I’m surprised no one else here has figured it out, but leave it to Morgana to work everyone too hard to see straight.”

“True,” Merlin chuckles. He glances over at Gwaine and sees thinly veiled tension in his shoulders and the lines of his face. Merlin takes a chance. “What does she have on you?”

“It’s a long story,” Gwaine says, forcing a smile on his face when Morgana looks their way, “but I’ll tell you if you want to hear it.”

“Later. Maybe… we can get a drink?” Merlin suggests. Something in the back of his mind is screaming _no_ but Merlin soundly tells it to shut up. Gwaine grins at him sadly.

“Probably not the best idea,” he says. Gwaine gestures across the stage where Arthur’s brooding in his usual corner. Gwen walks over to Arthur and says something that makes him smile.

“Arthur shouldn’t mind,” Merlin says.

“Aye, but he will,” Gwaine says. He stands up and stretches, his shirt rising to reveal very nicely toned abs, “and that’s not a good idea.”

“Why?” Merlin says. Gwaine shrugs, but he glances in the direction of the audience, and Morgana and Morgause are the only occupants. “ _Oh._ ”

“Maybe a coffee sometime, if you want to run lines or something,” says Gwaine, digging his hands in his pockets. He ambles backward and away, leaving Merlin alone with his water bottle, its label effectively shredded.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

“Pining much, are we?” Gwen asks as she ambles over to him again. She’d left him in good spirits a few minutes before, but then he’d gone back to watching Merlin and Gwaine and all the happy feelings disappeared.

“Nope,” he says resolutely. She sits next to him on Merlin’s box – wait, it’s not _Merlin’s_ , it’s just a box. He shakes his head.

“You’re not fooling me, Arthur,” Gwen says. She sounds almost sad.

“Do you know what’s bothering him?” he asks, ignoring her previous statement.

“No,” she replies. “Lance hasn’t got a clue either.”

“Congratulations, by the way,” Arthur adds, pointing at the glittering ring on her hand. “You’ll both be very happy together. I’m sure of it.”

“Thank you,” she says warmly. “I am, too.”

Morgana starts shouting orders for Merlin and Gwaine to take the stage and work through a song while most of the ensemble practices a different song with Morgause in the hall. Arthur and Gwen remain offstage where Morgana can’t find them. He forgot how comforting Gwen’s presence can be.

They’re doing the classroom scene where Dillamond is taken away and Elphaba starts to lose control. Arthur stiffens when he sees Merlin go pale under the startlingly bright lights.

“You know, then?” Gwen asks quietly. Arthur nods. “He’s taking a big risk, doing this show.”

“He’s a bit of an idiot,” Arthur agrees.

“I don’t think he’s acting,” Gwen says, nodding at Merlin on the stage, looking scared and confused at what should be everything on the set going haywire but for him and Gwaine. They hurry off to the other end of the stage briefly before coming back.

“No,” Arthur says. “I don’t think he is.”

They have a short exchange before Gwaine exits the stage, this time on Arthur’s side. He disappears behind them to get a bottle of water before returning to hear Merlin sing. His voice trembles under the weight of too many emotions. Arthur blinks rapidly upon hearing the longing in his words, the steady warble of the music Merlin creates.

 

_“Hands touch, eyes meet_

_Sudden silence, sudden heat._

_Hearts leap in a giddy whirl._

_He could be that boy_

_But I’m not that girl.”_

 

He stops to look around nervously. Arthur catches Merlin’s eye briefly and feels _something_ shoot through him like lightning and settle in his belly, leaving him uneasy and unbalanced.

 

_“Don’t dream too far,_

_Don’t lose sight of who you are._

_Don’t remember that rush of joy._

_He could be that boy_

_But I’m not that girl.”_

 

Arthur can hear his voice shake uncharacteristically on the last note. Merlin sings the rest of the song emphatically and technically perfectly, but there’s something missing. There’s no hope in his wistful smile. While the song’s meant to be sad, it’s too desolate to be spot-on.

 

_“Every so often we long to steal_

_To the land of what might have been_

_But that doesn’t soften the ache we feel_

_When reality sets back in…”_

 

It hurts to admit, watching him on stage, seeing him every damn day and waiting for the hours Arthur has with him to run out – Arthur can sympathize. He shuts his eyes for a moment before wandering further backstage for the remainder of the song.

He hears Morgana speak with Merlin from the front of the stage. It’s mostly praise. Arthur waits until Merlin wanders to the cooler for a fresh bottle of water. Arthur takes one out and hands it to him.

“You sounded good out there,” he offers.

“Thanks,” Merlin says without meeting his eye.

“I was a prat earlier,” he says with a wince. Merlin looks at him in surprise. “What? I can acknowledge when I’m wrong.”

“I’m just surprised you’re doing it.”

“I’d… appreciate it if we could practice sometime,” Arthur says, “if you still want.”

“This is really difficult for you. Saying you’re wrong _and_ asking for help?” Merlin says, starting to smile. Arthur grumbles incoherently and crosses his arms. “Of course, Arthur.”

“That’s not to say I’ll deny you my expert advice either,” he adds. Merlin groans. Arthur looks at him. He still looks distant and sad, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, but it’s better than nothing.

The doors to the performance hall open and Morgause parades down the aisle with Mordred and Kara on either side, all three of them bearing boxes of baked goods.

“Oh, look!” Merlin exclaims. “Food!”

“Éclairs!” Arthur gasps, opening one of the boxes and peering inside. “My favorite.”

“Paws off,” Morgana says, slapping his hand away. “You remember what happened last time you had éclairs?”

“No,” he says staunchly. Morgana still turns to Merlin and says, “He ate so many he couldn’t fit into his ceremonial uniform for Uther’s birthday celebration and showed up two hours late.”

“Why?”

“That’s how long it took the tailor to make the appropriate alterations.”

“You can fuck off now, Morgana,” Arthur says. He downs an éclair in one go. Merlin raises one eyebrow at him. “I’m not fat, Merlin.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he says as he drags the box of éclairs away. He takes one out and eats it in two bites with an awed look on his face. “Oh, fuck, these are good.”

“Told you,” Arthur says smugly. He takes two éclairs out before Kara grabs the box and walks it to the other end of the stage where the rest of cast is sitting. He has one éclair halfway to his mouth when he sees Merlin staring at him with thin lips. “What?”

“Are you really going to eat both now?”

“Yes?”

“You’ll need a few extra holes in that belt at this rate.”

“I’m fighting fit!”

“Come on, Arthur, pity the peasant and give me the éclair,” Merlin says. He reaches across him for the whole éclair Arthur’s right hand. He easily lifts it just out of each while taking a bite of the éclair in his left hand.

“Mmm,” he moans, licking the chocolate off his lips, peering at Merlin through one eye. The look of sheer determination hardens on his face.

Merlin lunges again, this time practically falling over Arthur to get the damn pastry, and damn it all if his steadying grip on Arthur’s thigh tightening finally gets him his prize, the warmth of Merlin’s sugary breath puffing against his cheek, his proximity, his victorious smile finally hitting home – damn it all if it isn’t worth losing the last éclair.

“That’s better,” he grins. Merlin smears a bit of chocolate on his thumb across Arthur’s face and settles in next to him, leaning comfortably against his shoulder for the remainder of the break.

That’s the precise moment when Arthur realizes he’s in too deep with idiotic, wonderful _Merlin_ and there’s really no turning back. He feels just as unsettled and unbalanced by the realization has he had during Merlin’s song, and yet even that can’t halt the smile that cements on his face.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

“How go the preparations?” Morgause asks. Morgana jumps at the closeness of her voice. She looks up from her notes at her sister and relaxes a little. She squints through the bright stage lights shining down on her.

“Everything is going well. You don’t think it’s too… much?” she asks.

“Not at all,” says Morgause. “We’ve had this planned for ages, Morgana.”

“I know, but it’s big. This isn’t just a disturbance. This is a declaration of war,” she says uneasily. Away from the heady magic guarding the Underground, Morgana can see how large a risk they’re taking in carrying out this plan.

“The atmosphere in Camelot and all of Albion is ripe for it,” she says with relish. Morgause perches on the desk next to Morgana’s notes. “If not now, it’ll be next week, or the week after that. We must be the first to act and to set the bar high.”

“Show them we’re serious,” Morgana nods. She crushes the unease in her stomach and tidies up her papers. “You’re right. I’m sorry for doubting.”

“War isn’t an easy business, however simple it is to start one,” she says, gently touching the side of her face. Morgana leans into her touch like a flower to sunlight. She sighs deeply.

“We’ve had so little time to ourselves,” she murmurs.

“It will be worth it. We’ll have a free world and all the time we could want because of our sacrifices.”

“I know,” she sighs. That’s not quite what she meant, but Morgana lets it slide. Morgause has always been rather single-minded in a different way from Morgana.

Morgause hands her a folded scrap of paper.

“When the time comes, call this number.”

Morgana nods.

“Come. Everyone will be arriving soon,” says Morgause, taking her hand and pulling her out of the chair. “We need to be through the first barrier before we act.”

“I know. I know.”

“Then come,” she says, tugging insistently, almost like a child, albeit a rather terrifying one. Morgana rises and follows her, excitement starting to pulse through her body.

“It’s going to be a good night,” she murmurs. Morgause doesn’t hear or refute or agree, but it doesn’t exactly matter. Morgana just _knows_.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

“Erm.”

“Merlin, yeah?” asks the woman with lovely dark eyes at the front desk. “I’ll let Arthur know you’re here.”

“Thanks,” he says, sitting down on the rickety bench by the door to the Magical Enforcement office. The space between the bench and the front desk is narrow, bookended by the door to the outside world and the door to the main room of the department. Merlin hardly has enough space to stretch his legs across the aisle.

The front door opens, letting in a blast of sticky warm air, and one of the officers from that day at the factory and the pub – Kay, was it? – breezes by with an armful of folders and papers.

“Busy today?” the secretary asks.

“The King’s requested some information,” he says over his shoulder. “Can’t exactly keep His Royal Highness waiting, can we?”

“No,” she chuckles, “not if you want your head attached to your neck.”

Kay snorts before pausing by Merlin to fish around for his ID card. His gaze falls on him and then he smiles.

“Merlin. The bloke from the factory, yeah?” he asks. Merlin nods. “Arthur’s quite fond of you.”

“I’d never have guessed,” Merlin says before he can stop himself. Kay, thankfully, laughs.

“That’s how you know,” he says with a wink. “Why are you down here today?”

“Arthur told me to come by. Not sure why.”

“Huh. Well, good luck with that,” says Kay. He finally finds his ID card and swipes into the main office. A loose paper falls out of his folders and flutters at Merlin’s feet.

“I’ll take that, love,” the secretary says, holding a hand out without looking up.

Merlin makes to hand it to her, but not before seeing that it’s a scan of a map of an area Merlin knows all too well – Ealdor, down to the streetlights and back alleys. There are black Xs scattered across the page. The secretary snatches the page away before Merlin can figure out what they mean.

A couple of moments later, the phone rings. The secretary listens and hangs up almost immediately.

“You can go on in. Mr. Pendragon’s office is straight through to the back,” she says with a smile. Merlin returns it tightly.

The door clicks open and he enters the main area where Arthur’s team is hard at work. Most of them are gathered around one whiteboard but there are at least three others in the room. Merlin can see Arthur sitting at his desk in his office through his open doorway. He hurries across before any of the other officers notice him.

“Nice office,” he says, walking in with his hands in his pockets. Arthur jumps at the sound of his voice. He scowls at him.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” he asks. There’s no heat to his voice. Merlin shrugs and makes to take a seat. “Shut the door first.”

The office is scarily quiet when he closes out the noise of the others working. Arthur types at his computer for another minute before sitting back and rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Not really,” he admits.

“Something wrong?”

“Couldn’t really stop thinking,” Arthur mutters. Merlin nods sympathetically. He’s had far too many nights like that lately.

“So… why am I here?”

“I was getting concerned,” Arthur says, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I’m realizing now it’s a bit silly or strange to say but I wanted to be sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin says. He winces at how artificial he sounds. Arthur waits unblinkingly. “Things are changing pretty quickly, is all.”

“How?”

“Well, Lance got the job here, yeah? And he’s engaged to Gwen now, so they’ve started looking for a new place in the Citadel,” explains Merlin. He feels bad, almost like he’s saying nasty things about his friends behind their backs. “They said they won’t turn me out but I still feel… like a burden.”

_Burden_ comes out like a well-practiced sigh.

“That’s why I left Ealdor, wasn’t it?” he says. Arthur looks startled. “I mean, I was a danger to my family. I’m a fucking magical bomb. I was a burden. Now they’re free to leave.”

“Are they?” Arthur asks. Merlin nods.

“Got a letter from Will not that long ago,” he says. He’s struggling to keep his voice even and steady for some reason. “He says my parents are heading out to Mercia soon, maybe in a week or so. Will’s supposed to go with them but he’s a fucking idiot and he doesn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

Merlin smiles, but it’s not a very heartfelt one.

“He figures things are about to get good around here and he doesn’t want to miss out on the action.”

“That’s… really stupid.”

“Yeah,” Merlin sighs. “I told him that. I even called him and told him and he told me I was being too careful and some other bullshit.”

He told Merlin for the millionth time that people like him could use someone with so much magic, even if it’s volatile as hell. Will told Merlin that the volatility is what’ll be most helpful.

Needless to say, Merlin hasn’t told Will much about his friendship with the Pendragon heirs, or how callous his words came off just then, even if they were said with the best intentions in mind. Will was always the type to get into trouble and reject rules set by _the man_ , but he got into the magical rights movement (and then the rather dangerous revolutionary shit) because of Merlin – _for_ him, really.

“Merlin, are we friends?” Arthur asks. Merlin looks up abruptly from where he’s been staring at his knees. Arthur stands up and walks around the desk to sit in the chair next to him.

“Er… yes?”

“Good,” Arthur says, sounding relieved. “Then you know you can come to me if something’s wrong or if you’re just having a shit day. That’s what friends do.”

“You’re worrying too much,” Merlin says, and inexplicably he’s starting to smile again.

“Sue me,” Arthur shrugs. “I haven’t seen you smile this whole week.”

“There hasn’t been a whole lot to smile about,” Merlin says. “Between the stuff with Lance and Gwen, and Will being an arse, and—”

“What’s that last one?”

“Nothing.”

“Merlin.”

“I lost the job at the factory,” Merlin admits.

“What?” Arthur exclaims. “Shit. It’s my fault, isn’t it? That’s why you didn’t say anything!”

“No! Look, they were pissed about it, but then they started saying if I didn’t do what they wanted – a ton of extra work, too much for any one person to take on – they said they’d fire me. It’s been happening for a while so I told them to stuff it,” Merlin says. His eyes burn and he carefully avoids Arthur’s scrutinizing gaze. “Seems I’ve fucked this up pretty badly, too.”

“You haven’t,” Arthur says fiercely. “What about working for Gaius?”

“He hasn’t had the chance to talk to the king about it.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Arthur says.

“You don’t—”

“Just let me help you, for fuck’s sake, Merlin,” Arthur cuts him off. “It’s not because I feel bad. I’d have done this before if I’d known how slowly things are going.”

“Arthur.”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“I might have almost blown up the factory on the way out,” Merlin adds. Arthur’s eyes bulge so much they look ready to fall out of their sockets. He stifles a laugh and it comes out as a snort. “The foreman’s an ass.”

“That he is.”

“No, I mean… he’s an ass. A donkey. I accidentally turned him into a donkey.”

“No way.”

“Yep. It was the only way to keep from setting the place on fire. I had to redirect the magic somehow and that was really all I could figure out how to do,” Merlin says as innocently as possible. “I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I’m dangerous like that.”

“You know you’re not actually dangerous, right?” Arthur says slowly. Merlin gives him an incredulous look. “You’re practically harmless.”

“Barring my mad magic, sure,” Merlin says derisively.

“You’re more than your magic, Merlin,” Arthur says.

Merlin stops fiddling with a stray thread on his sleeve and looks at Arthur. He can’t remember the last time anyone said something like that to him. After the frequency of incidents shot up in the last year or so even his family stopped reminding him. He looks down and away.

“I’m not, really. It’s what I am.”

“I’m not saying it’s not a big part of you, just that you’re still a person.”

“Really? I never would have thought.”

“Shut up, Merlin. Gwen gave me the same talk ages ago when the whole prince-thing started getting to me. She’s much better at this than I am,” Arthur mutters.

“I appreciate it,” Merlin laughs. He sighs and leans his head back, staring up at the ceiling. He looks over at Arthur who’s watching him with vague bewilderment. “What? My neck hurt.”

“I’ve learned to stop questioning you,” he says, shaking his head.

“What else did Gwen say to you then?” Merlin asks, twisting his neck to look at Arthur. He’s shifted into a position mirroring Merlin’s, relaxed and absolutely beautiful, even under the horrendous fluorescent lights.

“She said I didn’t have to stop being a prince in order to be me,” Arthur says simply. “I wanted to make a difference, make things better for everyone in Camelot, but being a prince puts so many restraints on that. She said to fight for myself.”

“Your father didn’t want you to do this?” Merlin asks.

“God, no. He expected me to stick with the military training and then join his council,” Arthur says, shaking his head. “It’s not like I haven’t done that. I just want to spend my days out here, not in that stuffy palace.”

“Took ages to convince him, did it?”

“Felt like a couple hundred years,” he says solemnly. “It was worth it.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“Gwen’s smarter than all of us.”

“By a landslide.”

A knock comes on the door before it opens. Merlin leans his head back and sees Leon poke his head into the office. He smirks and schools his features into the paragon of professionalism, even if his boss is sprawled on a chair next to Merlin looking like a proper toddler.

“We’ve got a tip on the line you ought to hear,” Leon says. Arthur sits up immediately.

“Should I go?” Merlin asks. He stands up, wincing as he straightens out his neck. Arthur looks at Leon, who grimaces at him.

“Sounds like things are about to get hairy,” Arthur says, sounding properly regretful. He reaches toward Merlin and sets the collar of his shirt right. Merlin’s skin burns where Arthur’s fingers brush his neck and his hand pauses on his shoulder once he’s done. Arthur pulls back hastily and clears his throat. “I was thinking… we could take tomorrow off.”

Merlin’s heart stutters. The whole day, just the two of them?

“What? Skip practice?”

“Morgana would skin us,” Arthur says, shuddering. “No, I was thinking we could take some time off to get away from everything before rehearsal. Maybe we can get you that phone.”

“Okay,” Merlin beams. His smile falls a fraction. “I don’t exactly have much money to spare now that I’m jobless.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Arthur—”

“Has anyone showed you around the Citadel yet?” Arthur interrupts. Merlin shakes his head. “Then we’ll do that.”

“Uh oh. I don’t like that look.”

“Why not?”

“You look like Morgana, all scheming and whatnot.”

“Trust me, Merlin. You have nothing to worry about. See you in the morning,” Arthur says, still looking startlingly like his sister about to go into full gleeful director mode. Arthur slides past Leon out of the office, leaving Merlin to sort himself out.

Leon coughs and barely covers up a laugh.

“Something funny?” Merlin asks.

“Nope.”

“Are you going to tear the mickey out of him later?”

“Probably.”

“You’ve got my blessing,” Merlin says cheerfully. Leon laughs and claps his shoulder on his way out of Arthur’s office.

Merlin walks across the mostly empty space of the office; everyone is gathered around a desk near the one whiteboard, listening to a recording. Most of them look up when Leon shuts Arthur’s office door and watch him leave. The moment Merlin’s back in reception, he hears them all erupt in scandalized _oohs_ and teasing jeers. He listens for Arthur’s annoyed groan before heading out into the waning afternoon, feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and excitement and all together happier than he’s been in days.


	10. One Short Day/A Sentimental Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mixing themes from two songs here
> 
> [One Short Day](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uKJyURMuxds)
> 
> [A Sentimental Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vHOw8Q0oYag)

**Arthur**

 

It's an understatement to say Arthur is nervous, even though he _doesn’t_ get nervous. He changes his clothes three times before settling on the first outfit he’d picked out.

Morgana cackles at him from the doorway. He spins around at the sound.

“What now, Morgana?” he asks. He looks back at the mirror and tries fixing his hair again, but nothing seems quite right.

“I take it you have plans today?” she says. Morgana sits on the edge of Arthur’s unmade bed and looks at him curiously. Arthur sees her devious grin spread through the mirror. “So you finally grew a pair and asked Merlin out! I’m proud of you.”

“It’s not a date,” Arthur mutters. “We’re just hanging out.”

“Right, you spotty teenager… and that’s why you’re fussing and preening so much?”

“Fuck off, Morgana.”

“Can I offer you a small piece of advice?” Morgana says. She hands him his dark brown belt.

“Doubtful,” Arthur says, struggling to close his belt at the usual notch. Morgana smirks at him.

“Merlin and Gwaine are going out tomorrow night,” says Morgana. Arthur’s hands freeze on his belt buckle. “It’s nothing special, just coffee, I think, but I thought you should know.”

“Why should it matter?”

“You’re obviously hopeless, Arthur. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“You mean like last time?”

“That was a long time ago. I know you’ve learned from your mistakes.”

“What mistake was that?” he snaps. “Telling _you_ my plans?”

Morgana pales three shades of white, her eyes flashing angrily.

“You can’t seriously be blaming me for the Gwaine fiasco. That’s absurd,” she says, coldness showing in her stare fixed on Arthur’s reflection. He turns toward her.

“Doesn’t matter at this point,” Arthur says. “Forget I said anything.”

“I’m not sure I can,” Morgana replies.

“Then don’t,” he shrugs. “See you tonight.”

He swipes his jacket off his bed and practically runs down the hall to the exit. He cuts through the gardens to the south wing parking lot. Only once he’s in his car does he pause to catch his breath and consider the implications of what just happened.

Arthur shakes his head.

“It’s probably nothing.”

He starts the car and drives out to Merlin and Lance’s flat. He turns the radio on and off twice before settling on silence; the bad singing of pop groups only annoyed Arthur and made him twitchier than he already was. Instead he rolls the windows down and lets the cool morning air wash over him.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

“Arthur’s here!” Lance shouts. Merlin jumps up from his chair by the window and runs a hand through his hair, messing up the styling he’d spent ten minutes perfecting.

He shouldn’t be nervous. It’s just Arthur. _It’s not a date._ Even if it were, Merlin would be even more out of his depths. He hasn’t ever actually dated anyone. Will was different, and there were a few one-night stands after Uni, but no real dates.

“Get your lazy arse out here, Merlin!”

He hears Arthur’s even footsteps approach his door. He’s leaning against the doorjamb when Merlin turns around from the window.

“Your room is as messy as it was last time I was here,” Arthur notes, eyeing a stray sock on the floor. Merlin shrugs.

“I know where everything is.”

Arthur sighs, like he’s suffering because of Merlin’s words. It makes him smile.

“So… where are we going? Am I dressed for the occasion?” Merlin asks, waving at his clothes. Arthur looks him up and down.

“You’ll be fine. Let’s go before it gets too late.”

“Late? It’s, like, eight in the morning.”

“It’s late, Merlin. I want to make sure we get there before it gets hot out,” Arthur says as he strides across the room in three long steps. He stops just short of Merlin before grabbing his wrist and yanking him back to the hall.

“Oi! Lance, I’m being manhandled!”

“Good for you,” he calls from the kitchen.

“Fuck you!” he shouts as Arthur grips his shoulder more tightly and steers him away from the kitchen and Lance’s smug grin.

Arthur opens the door and, suddenly a gentleman, holds it open for Merlin and gestures for him to go through. The smirk on his face ruins it. Merlin shoves his shoulder before barreling down the stairs. He can hear Arthur close behind, but he still beats him to the car.

“Can we put the top down?” he asks, leaning on the car to catch his breath. The air is cool but the haze on the horizon bespeaks the intense heat yet to come.

“Whatever you want, Merlin,” Arthur says. Merlin doesn’t miss the smile on his face.

“You know you like it.”

“’Course I do. Why would I have a car like this if I didn’t?”

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

“Well… it’s not in the Citadel. I thought we’d go somewhere else in the morning and do the Citadel later,” Arthur says. He looks over at Merlin expectantly.

“I trust you. I go where you go,” he says, stretching as he adjusts the seat settings so he can lie back and drink in the sunlight. He opens one eye to look at Arthur. He looks pink and pleased. Merlin grins to himself, shuts his eyes, and tips his face up toward the sun.

He listens to the bustle of Camelot and the screeching of the Darkling quarter factories fade away. The road gets a little rougher when Arthur takes them off the Ring Road. When the sunshine becomes patchy Merlin opens his eyes to find they’re on a dirt road lined with lush leafy trees. The air is much cooler here than out on the highway. He sits up and looks around.

“Morning,” Arthur drawls.

“Prat,” he mutters.

“Still want to know where we’re going?”

“Yes….”

Arthur points to the right just as they pass a massive sign with the words _Gawant Equestrian_ emblazoned in gold on a green backdrop. Merlin almost jumps out of his seat.

“Are we going to see Elena?” Merlin asks, excitement already creeping up his spine.

“Yep. She’s kindly agreed to go out for a ride with us.”

“A ride… with horses?”

“No, Merlin, with dragons. _Yes_ , horses.”

“I’m not sure I can do that.”

“You’ll be in good hands.”

“Yours?” he snorts. He looks away as soon as he realizes the double meaning.

“No, Elena’s. She’s an instructor. I figured since the weather’s so nice, and we were just talking about it the other day – we can head back to the city if you’d prefer,” Arthur says hastily.

“No! No. It’s fine,” he almost squeaks. Arthur laughs. “It’s just been a while.”

“Same here.”

“Yeah, but you’re… you.”

“It’s going to be fine, Merlin,” he says, still laughing.

“Sure. It’ll be fun. I’ll break my neck and you’ll have a good laugh.”

“I don’t think you’ll break your neck,” Arthur says. “Maybe you’ll just piss the horse off and it’ll throw you in the lake.”

“Animals like me,” Merlin pouts.

“You’ll probably trip over a squirrel.”

“That was one time, Arthur!”

“You shouldn’t have told me if you didn’t want me to mention it.”

“You’re horrible,” Merlin says, sliding low in his seat, making the fake-leather squeak. They finally reach the end of the road and stop before the tall black gates. Arthur buzzes them in and drives up to a surprisingly normal-looking farmhouse, albeit a very large one.

“There’s a mansion out back,” Arthur adds.

“And I was getting worried my impressions of the aristocracy were unfounded.”

Arthur shoves his shoulder lightly. They pull up to the front of the house. Elena bounds out of a side entrance with a halo of messy blonde hair and dirt all over her clothes.

“Morning, boys,” she says cheerily. “Give me a minute to go wash and change and we’ll head over.”

She trips over a step on her way into the house.

“Is this where she lives?” Merlin asks, peering through the door she left open. Arthur slaps the back of his head. “Ow!”

“Prying is rude, Merlin. And yes, Elena does live here. Her family stays at the mansion but she’s here most of the time in the spring and summer,” Arthur explains.

“So your family estate is close, too?”

“Yeah. It’s that way,” Arthur says, waving vaguely in the direction of the lake beyond the trees. “I didn’t want to attract attention by going there.”

“Fair enough. I’m not so keen on bonding with the king,” Merlin says with a shudder.

“He’s really not that bad,” Arthur tries. Merlin fixes him with a glare worthy of Gaius’s eyebrow. “He’s still the king, Merlin.”

“Yes, but you’re the prince, and you’re still an arse.”

“You know it’s treason to talk to me like that, right?”

“Are you going to put me in the stocks, sire?” Merlin asks, nudging Arthur’s shoulder.

“Maybe,” he says and nudges back.

Elena reappears in fresh clothes fit for riding. Merlin barely catches the helmet she tosses at him. The sun glares off the shiny black surface as he turns it in his hands.

“You’re sure this is a good idea?”

“Absolutely,” Elena says lightly. “Race you guys there!”

She takes off at a run, leaving Arthur and Merlin in the dust. After a moment, Arthur takes off, too, leaving Merlin shouting curses at them as he follows. Merlin cuts through the trees, following the blur red of Arthur’s shirt, and almost trips over a root a few times as he goes downhill. He’s totally out of breath by the time they reach the stables down near the lake. The forest around is rich and possibly more beautiful than anything Merlin’s ever seen before.

“What’s the lake called?” he asks.

“Avalon,” she says fondly.

Elena hands Merlin the reins belonging to a dark chestnut horse with a black mane. It nuzzles his face and blows hot air at him.

“Hello, there,” Merlin murmurs, stroking the horse’s flank. A blur of movement distracts Merlin – Arthur gets on his horse with total ease. “You liar. You’re done this recently.”

“Not since last summer,” Arthur says, bending down to pet his horse. He grins at Merlin. “That’s still a while.”

Merlin’s glad Elena had the foresight to give him the gentlest and most docile horse she has. It takes a while for Merlin to get the hang of it. She tells him at least three times that the horse – Maria, apparently – won’t throw him into the lake.

“Try not to be disappointed, Arthur,” he calls out. Arthur turns to look back at him, smiling softly. Merlin glances at Elena, who’s pointedly looking out at the glittering water.

“I think you’ve got the hang of this now,” she says, patting Merlin’s shoulder hard enough to almost shove him out of the saddle. His horse whinnies in protest and walks a little more quickly. Elena turns around and rides off without another word.

They end up racing around the edge of the lake. Arthur beats him, of course, but Merlin can’t be bothered.

“It’s so _nice_ out here!” Merlin sighs happily. “You lucky bastard, coming here all the time.”

“Not anymore,” Arthur says, rubbing the back of his neck. The skin there is red from the heat of the sun. The breeze sends a shiver down Merlin’s sweaty back. They dismount and tie their horses to the posts by the lake before heading down to the water.

They don’t talk about much, but there’s no mention of the musical or of Arthur’s work or anything that’s dominated their time lately. It’s like the night at the pub when they’d talked about horses and phones and the books they both studied at some point in school. Nothing really important comes up, and that’s exactly what Merlin needs. The warm air with the cool water on his bare feet where he’s stuck them in the lake makes him languid and relaxed as he lies down on the dock.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Merlin asks.

“A prince,” Arthur says automatically.

“You were always a prince, idiot. I mean what you wanted to be if you weren’t the prince.”

“A farmer, I suppose.”

“Really?” Merlin asks. He sits up and props himself up on his elbow to look down at Arthur’s face bathed in golden sunlight.

“Something simple. Being a farmer seemed simple when I was five,” Arthur says, “though I know that’s not true.”

“Did you change your mind?”

Arthur pauses.

“I wanted to sing, like my mother. Father would never have let me do it professionally.”

“You’re so talented, though,” Merlin says softly.

“I sound like her. He told me once he hears her in me when I sing,” Arthur says. He shuts his eyes. “He doesn’t like being reminded of what he lost.”

“Do you miss her?”

“I can’t miss what I never had,” he says. “I wish I could. I wish I had something of her, even the vaguest memory.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s just the way it is,” Arthur sighs. He eases himself upright and looks around. The sun is higher in the sky and beating down hard where they’re sitting on the dock, away from the trees and unprotected. “What about you? What did you want to be?”

Merlin blinks at the brightness of the waves lapping against their feet.

“I didn’t really want to be anything,” he admits. He adds, “anything but normal.”

“You’re pretty fucking weird,” Arthur says sagely. “I think it’s the ears.”

He flicks Merlin’s ear before he can retort.

“Hey!” he shouts belatedly.

Arthur’s already on his feet and jogging down the burning hot dock back to the shade where the horses await. He turns around and beams brightly at Merlin in a way he’s learned is purely for him.

“You coming or what?”

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

The first wall of magic totally _shatters_. Their victorious cheers shake the stage above. The shaking, however, doesn’t stop. Dust is still falling on their heads when Morgana sees the crack in the wall deepen.

“Shut up! The wall’s breaking!” Morgana screams. She throws all her magic at stopping the shaking. She almost collapses under holding the weight single-handedly. “Help me!”

Only once all seven of them are focused on the same task does the wall stabilize. She exhales thinly. Morgana wants nothing more than to drop to the floor and lie there until her knees stop shaking, but she doesn’t have the luxury.

“We’re done for today,” she says curtly. There are a few murmurs but no one questions her. Everyone is exhausted and it’s barely midday. When they don’t move, Morgana glares and adds, “See you _later_.”

Everyone but Morgause and Aglain flee.

“I’ll be putting the call in tonight,” she announces. “Tell the appropriate people.”

“Any reason why now?” Aglain asks. His eyes gleam with excitement.

“I fear my brother suspects,” she says stiffly.

“Did he say something?” Morgause demands.

“Not really,” she replies, “but I can feel it. If we don’t act now, he’ll catch up to us.”

“We’ll be awaiting your orders,” Aglain says, for once deferential and respectful. She juts her chin out and nods. He understands the dismissal. When he’s gone, Morgause says,

“Are you certain Arthur won’t get in the way of what we’re doing?”

“No,” Morgana says, and a small part of her cringes at the thought of Arthur out on the streets when their plan gets to full speed, “but he’s out with Merlin all day. I doubt they’ll be causing us trouble.”

“His rendition of _Popular_ was more of a seduction than anything,” Morgause smirks. “The poor man.”

“Why poor? It seems like Merlin feels similarly.”

“With what’s coming, Arthur will hardly have time to breathe, let alone spend time with Merlin,” she replies.

“Then I hope they get it out of their systems today.”

Morgause regards her curiously, almost coolly, before asking,

“What does your father have planned?”

“I have no idea,” she says. “It’s terrifying, Morgause.”

“I know, sister,” she says gently. “I know. But we’re so much stronger than anything he can throw at us. We’re in the right. We will not lose.”

“We can’t underestimate him.”

“And we shan’t.”

Morgause kisses her cheek before excusing herself. Morgana stands alone before the portal to the Underground. She reaches out and touches the second layer. It feels electric and volatile. She reaches out.

_“Gatekeeper.”_

Morgana presses on, but she feels nothing.

_“Hello?”_

She waits, but she receives no response. Only as she turns to leave does she hear a faint, low rumbling that almost sounds like laughter. Morgana halts.

“You’re the Great Dragon,” she says aloud.

“Indeed,” it replies.

“I could free you.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’m powerful.”

“But not enough, witch. There is another who is stronger than you. He is magic itself,” it says, “and he is destined to deliver your death.”

Morgana flinches.

“Emrys. He exists?”

“I don’t believe you need me to tell you. You’ve already found evidence of Emrys’s struggles,” the dragon says. It pauses and makes a mewling sound, as though it’s yawning. “You would do well to leave things as they are.”

“You can’t expect me to let Uther get away with what he’s done!” she exclaims.

“I harbor no love for Pendragons.”

“Then we’re more alike than you realize,” says Morgana.

“Realize that the evil in your heart comes from his blood,” the dragon replies. There’s a loud whooshing sound and then everything settles into silence.

Morgana shouts for the dragon for half an hour. She gives up and hurls a boulder at the magical barrier with all the might her magic can muster. It halts at the barrier before barreling back at her with twice the amount of force. Morgana jumps out of the way. It scrapes her shoulder on its way to the far wall where it lodges itself firmly. She reaches out with her magic and crushes it to dust, leaving only the hole it made in the wall. Morgana wipes the blood off her shoulder before leaving, a sick anger twisting in her gut.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

“This might be the sappiest, most fucking romantic date I’ve ever seen,” Elena professes.

“El! Shut it!” Arthur hisses. He watches Merlin disappear around the corner at the end of the hall in search of the toilet.

“What? It is! Are you proposing?” she asks mischievously.

“It’s not a date!”

“It’s a date, Arthur. You took him riding. You just ate that picnic I made for you guys by the lake—”

“You were there, too!”

“Yeah, for like five minutes!”

“You said you had work!” Arthur whines.

“I made that up! I didn’t want to intrude,” she says. “I have manners, you know.”

“Really? Where’ve you been hiding them all these years?”

“With the horses,” she says sweetly. “What else are you doing today?”

“Let it go, Elena.”

“Fine, but you can’t deny it’s at least a little cute.”

Arthur glares at her. She laughs loudly and punches his arm.

“What about Gwaine?” Arthur asks. “You seemed to hit it off with him at his club that one night.”

Her face falls.

“He’s great,” she says, “but it didn’t seem like he was all that interested.”

“That’s a total lie,” Merlin interrupts as he reenters the room. “Gwaine likes you a lot.”

“How long have you been standing there?” Arthur asks, a hot line of nervousness running down his back. Merlin sticks his tongue out at him and doesn’t answer him.

“Then why’d he stand me up?” Elena asks. Merlin bites his lip.

“I don’t know. Just… he’s got some stuff going on. I think he’s got to work all that shit out before he can do anything with you. Trust me, Elena – he really does like you.”

Elena sighs.

“I’ve got to go to the track now,” she says. “I haven’t got time to worry about stupid boys.”

“We’ll get out of your hair,” Arthur says, standing up from the counter. They wax their thanks to Elena for a truly lovely morning before heading out to the car.

“I wish I had a puppy,” Merlin muses as Elena’s golden Labrador pup yips at them from a window.

“Did you never have pets?”

“Nah. No one could stay home with one.”

Arthur starts the car. He pulls the top back up and cranks up the air conditioning. Merlin sighs in relief and props his head up in front of the vent.

“You’re going to get a headache if you do that.”

“Hush, Arthur. I’m dying.”

He doesn’t say anything until they’re almost on the Ring Road.

“Can we get ice cream?” Merlin asks suddenly.

“It _is_ perfect ice cream weather,” Arthur says. He grins at Merlin. “I’ve got the perfect place in mind.”

He takes the Fallen Kings through to the Citadel and parks the car a few blocks from the palace. It’s much hotter here away from the lake between tall walls of stone.

“How much farther is it? I’m melting, Arthur,” Merlin moans after a block and a half of walking.

“You realize the irony of saying _you’re_ melting, right?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You’re not funny, Merlin.”

“Neither are you,” he says with a weary sigh. “I don’t like you very much.”

“Really? I’ve just presented you with ice cream _and_ puppies,” Arthur says with a flourish. Merlin stares open-mouthed at the pet shop and gelateria next door.

“I take it all back,” he gapes. He touches the glass above the ice cream reverently.

They end up watching the dogs in the window until their ice creams are half-eaten, half-streaming down their hands and wrists. Merlin licks the line of chocolate off his skin and Arthur, feeling weak-kneed and like he’s slowly losing his mind, can’t stop himself from watching. He forces himself to look back at the cute puppies instead of Merlin before he can notice.

They walk another block no the shady side of the street before reaching the mobile phone shop. While Merlin’s looking at the models he can’t afford, Arthur has a word with the owner, who provides his team with their work phones.

“He’s just been hired to work with the palace physician,” he explains. “He doesn’t need anything fancy, but you can go ahead and add it to the tab.”

“Of course, sir,” the mousy man says. He bows, much to Arthur’s embarrassment, drawing a bit of attention from a couple looking at tablets. Merlin saunters up to him and the owner.

Merlin, naturally, has a bit of a fit when Arthur tries to explain the situation to him, but eventually Arthur wins because they’re making a scene and a few people with cameras have gathered by the shop window. Arthur recognizes one of them as a reporter.

“Shit. Just get the phone. We need to go unless you want all of Camelot thinking we’re an item.”

“That terrible an idea, is it?”

“Do you want to be stalked by the paparazzi?”

Merlin glances at the window and makes a face.

“That’s what I thought. Cedric! We’ll take this one, and the back door.”

They take the long route back to the car. Luckily no one’s waiting to catch a picture of them there.

“I’ll pay you back for this,” Merlin says, shaking the bag with the new phone. Arthur takes the bag from him and starts setting it up for him while they wait for the car to cool down. “I’m not totally useless, you know.”

“I know,” he says. Arthur gives him a look that shuts him up for a total of ten seconds.

“Where now?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Are you going to follow through on that grand tour of the Citadel?”

“Of course.”

“Can I see the palace, too? Or is that not allowed?”

“I’m the prince, Merlin,” says Arthur breezily. “Don’t you worry.”

He tosses Merlin his phone, complete with Arthur’s number in it, and starts up the car. He points out the university he attended a few blocks down (“That’s not a school, that’s a fucking castle!”), then the secondary school down the road, followed by the military training barracks where Arthur spent a year after Uni.

“That’s where Gaius’s office is,” says Arthur, pointing at a small white square of a building in the middle of a street closer to the center of the Citadel. He points down a side street. “Another block that way is where Gwen works.”

They pull onto Victory Avenue, the wide street lined with lights and Linden trees that cuts through the middle of the citadel from the outer gate all the way up to Pendragon Plaza.

“Is that the pub we went to that one time?” Merlin asks. He has his face pressed up against the glass as he peers out at the street.

“Yes.”

“And is that where your father comes out to address the people?” he asks, pointing at the wide balcony overlooking the Plaza, overshadowing the steps to the palace.

“Have you never seen the Yuletide address?”

“We didn’t have a television in Ealdor,” he replies. Merlin rests his head on the back of the chair.

“You’re not missing much,” Arthur says. He glances at the clock. “You know, the city’s much more interesting from the roof of the palace.”

It takes all of two minutes to get the guards by the door to walk away long enough for Arthur to get Merlin inside. The floors have been freshly waxed. They take off their shoes and Merlin falls flat on his back after two steps.

“You’re a disaster,” Arthur laughs as he pulls Merlin to his feet.

“You’re just working that out now?”

Arthur’s had years of practice skidding through the halls in his socks. He skates off at a terrifying speed. He catches the doorway to slow down and turn the corner. He hooks his arm through Merlin’s as he passes by before he can barrel into the wall. By the time they get to the (carpeted) stairs, they’re out of breath and can’t seem to stop laughing.

“God, I feel like I’m fifteen again,” he gasps as they lean on the bannisters. Merlin collapses on the steps flat on his back. He stares up at the gilded ceiling.

“This place is amazing,” he murmurs.

“It _is_ a palace,” he says. “I’m lucky to have grown up here.”

“You don’t live here anymore, right?”

“I live close to the Department,” he says, shaking his head. “I like it better out there.”

“I do, too,” Merlin says. “It’d be too much, being around all this all the time.”

“Exactly,” he says with a relieved exhale. Merlin looks up at him and smiles. Arthur can’t help but reciprocate.

“I’ve got a better idea than the roof,” Arthur says. He hauls Merlin up, sidestepping when he almost wobbles into Arthur, and offers him his hand. Merlin takes it. He glances away, his cheeks coloring brightly.

They stop briefly in Arthur’s room so he can get what he needs before moving into a different wing of the palace. They climb another long set of spiral stairs until they reach the top floor and a locked door. Arthur extracts a golden key from his pocket.

“What is this?”

“Technically illegal,” he says with a grimace. “No one’s allowed through here, but that’s exactly why we won’t get caught.”

The lock clicks. He pushes the door open to reveal a long, narrow hallway. The carpet is old and stiff; it’s been there and virtually untouched for over thirty years. The paintings on the walls have twenty years of dust on them. All the doors inside are locked except for one. Arthur opens it with a creak and steps into the private study.

Papers are strewn across the desk, some of them his notes from work, other more personal papers that he doesn’t want his family to find. There are worn boxes of vinyl records and notebooks and more than enough rolled up yellowing posters and flyers to line the pale green walls of the room twice. The shelves of the bookcase are overflowing with novels and knickknacks.

Merlin picks up a teacup on the nearest shelf and reads the date and year emblazoned on one side. He looks at Arthur with huge eyes.

“This is from before the Purge,” he says. Arthur takes the teacup out of his shaking hands and gingerly replaces on its saucer. He looks around the room. “Is all of this from before?”

Arthur nods.

“My father wanted everything related to the Purge put up here,” he explains. “He put everything to do with my mother here, too. When I finally got the guts to look around and I found all this… I couldn’t just forget about it.”

“Will you show me?” Merlin asks, reaching out to touch the box of vinyl records.

“No, I’ve just brought you up here to look. Time to go now.”

Merlin looks up at him, half-shocked, half-scowling, his eyes wide and almost afraid. Arthur kicks himself mentally.

“I’m kidding,” Arthur says quickly. Merlin visibly relaxes, his grip on the record in his hand loosening. “Don’t be such a girl.”

Arthur slips around Merlin and the desk to uncover the record player in the corner of the room. He puts on a random record. They sit on the floor with the boxes and let the rich sounds wash over them. It always takes Arthur’s breath away – and he can see that Merlin feels similarly, the way his eyes flutter shut and his mouth falls into a relaxed smile, his lips ever so slightly parted. He drums the beat on his arm and sometimes switches to tracing swirls on his skin in time with the music.

“This is incredible,” Merlin says as the first song ends, startling Arthur out of his thoughts. He looks away rapidly before Merlin can catch him.

“Are you crying, Merlin?” he teases.

“No!”

“Liar,” Arthur grins as Merlin wipes at his eyes.

“Bet you cried, too. It’s beautiful. It’s like nothing we’ve got anymore.”

“You’re right about that,” Arthur says softly. Merlin starts to smile like he’s just told him his birthday’s come early. “Fine. I cried, too. There’s something in her voice that doesn’t leave you.”

He shuts his eyes and leans his head back against the front of the desk. The second song starts.

“I could probably stay like this forever,” Merlin says. Arthur opens his eyes and finds Merlin looking right at him. He doesn’t look away when Arthur sees him. His traitorous stomach flips and his heart soars with hope.

“Me, too.”

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

She finally finds Uther in the gardens. Her brow is slightly damp with nervous sweat as she strides across the lawn.

“Morgana,” he says happily. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I’ve been quite busy. You’ll come see the production like you promised, won’t you?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, cupping her cheek affectionately. She tries not to slap his hand away and settles for leaning down to smell a flower. “Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?”

“I’m afraid not,” she says with a small pout. “We’re too close to opening night; rehearsal will certainly run late.”

“Shame. Perhaps tomorrow?”

“I’ll try,” she smiles. “How about we have tea now instead?”

“That sounds lovely,” he beams. “Shall we eat outside?”

“No,” she says quickly. “It’s rather humid. Let’s eat in the dining room.”

She takes his arm and steers him back toward the house. Uther flags down a servant and sends him with a message to the kitchens.

“Tell me about the production,” Uther says. “Is Arthur behaving?”

“Well enough,” Morgana says. “He and the other lead are excellent together. They’ll put on a great show.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he says with a smile. Morgana can see the aftertaste of disdain on his lips as the smile fades. Uther has never liked Arthur’s love of performing, and Morgana knows he wouldn’t condone it so readily if there weren’t a reason for it.

“And how are things with the council?” she asks. “I was hoping to make an appeal for to form an Arts Committee.”

“You want to use government money for that?” he asks incredulously. “It can’t be done. We can’t spare it right now.”

“Allow me at least to make the appeal!” she says, struggling to keep her voice gentle.

“I’ll consider it,” he says curtly.

They’re almost where Morgana needs Uther to be. She clasps his arm and stalls him just before the doorway that’s usually closed.

“Thank you,” she says. “It means a lot to me.”

“I’m just glad to see you doing more than attract the paparazzi,” Uther says tiredly.

“It _was_ getting out of hand,” Morgana admits.

“I – why is this door open?” Uther interrupts.

“I don’t know,” she blinks. “I’ve never seen it open.”

Down the dark hall she can make out the start of a tall spiral staircase. She’s seen Arthur go up there before, usually when Uther isn’t home, but he’s clearly gotten carried away.

Uther’s face turns an ugly shade of red. It’s perfect.

“Go to the dining room. I’ll join you shortly,” he says without looking at Morgana. Uther breaks out of her grasp and slowly makes his way down the long hall.

Morgana pulls out her phone and dials the number she’s had memorized since Morgause gave it to her. It rings twice.

“Go ahead,” she says after hearing the click.

“Yes, my lady.”

The line goes dead. From down the hall where Uther’s simply staring at the dimly lit staircase Morgana hears his mobile phone ring.

“Pendragon,” he says shortly. There’s a long pause. When he speaks again, his voice drops and it quavers with intensity. “Send the DoME the details. They’ll be on it as soon as possible.”

Uther hesitates a minute longer before pocketing his phone and starting to make his way up the stairs. Morgana smiles to herself and makes for the dining room with smooth, confident steps.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

“Can I ask you something?” Merlin says. Arthur pauses in his rifling through the nearest box of records. “When I was at your office yesterday I saw… Kay dropped a page from a file he had for your father. I gave it to the secretary but I saw it was a map of Ealdor.”

Arthur frowns, his gaze troubled.

“That’s unusual.”

“Is it? I mean, it was detailed, like there were alleys marked that only locals know.”

“That’s even more unusual,” Arthur says softly. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I don’t have a clue why he’d have that. Hell, I didn’t even know Kay was reporting to my father on anything.”

“Is that normal?”

“No,” he says. Arthur sighs and sits back against the front of the desk. “I want all this to be over.”

“The war?”

“War hasn’t even started yet, Merlin,” Arthur says somberly. “I just want peace.”

“We all do,” he says gently. “When you get that Commissioner position, you’ll be able to bring peace to Camelot.”

“Will I? My father’s not a stupid man – if he doesn’t want something, it can’t happen.”

“Someday you can change that,” Merlin says. “You’re brilliant, you know. You’re going to find a way to make this work, even if Uther doesn’t want it to work out.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asks.

“I believe in you Arthur. I think I always have,” Merlin says sincerely. He meets Arthur’s disbelieving, slightly pink expression for a moment before turning away to inspect another box. “What’s all this?”

“Ah! That’s the one I wanted to show you,” Arthur exclaims, he crawls over on his knees and sits across from Merlin with the box between them. “All this is stuff from the Repertory from before the Purge.”

“From when your mother ran it?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says. His excitement dims a shade. “I’m happy there’s this much stuff left over.”

“Let’s see what we’ve got, yeah?” Merlin says, eager to distract Arthur and cheer him up. He’s not sure looking at his mother’s old things from her glory days will help much, but Merlin’s willing to try. He dives a hand into the box and pulls out a stack of flyers and playbills. He rifles through them and smiles. “These are some of my favorites.”

Arthur takes one from his hands and smiles.

“My father once said that _Phantom_ was her favorite,” Arthur says. “He let it slip one day when Morgana and I came home talking about a production our secondary was doing.”

“What else do you know about her?” Merlin asks quietly.

“Not much. I’m like a lot her, according to Gaius,” Arthur adds. “But otherwise, nothing. I only just found a picture of her that’s not one of the official portraits.”

The sun is setting outside and dips behind a tree or a building casting darkness over the room. Arthur reaches into the box and pulls out an old logbook. He opens the front cover and extracts a graying photo. Merlin’s heart catches in his throat.

“That’s my mother,” Arthur says, pointing at the blonde woman on the left, standing next to—

“And that’s _my_ mother,” Merlin finishes. He takes the photo from Arthur and squints, just to be sure, but there’s no mistaking it. “My mum has this same picture at home.”

He looks up from the photo at Arthur. The room seems to sway when he meets Arthur’s eye.

“Your mother… is Hunith Vorten?”

Merlin nods.

“I said I was classically trained and it ran in the family, didn’t I?” Merlin says with a weak laugh.

“Did you know they knew each other, then?” Arthur asks, an edge obvious in his voice.

“No! God, no. I’ve only seen this a few times but she always refused to tell me who the other woman was,” Merlin says, shaking his head. “We don’t have a lot of pictures out in Ealdor of the royal family, especially not like this one. I never would’ve known if you hadn’t shown me.”

Arthur stares in apparent shock at him, his hands limp in his lap. Merlin gingerly hands the photo back to him and sits back on his legs, somewhat hunched toward Arthur.

“They were best friends,” Merlin says after a long stretch of silence. “My mother told me she was one of her closest friends and they grew up learning music together. My mum was in a scholarship program at the Royal Conservatory. They performed together countless times once your mother set up the Repertory,” Merlin pauses. “I didn’t know about that either. Mum never told me any details.”

Arthur nods slowly.

“What else?” he asks. His voice sounds parched.

“I… I’ve heard her sing,” Merlin realizes. “I’ve grown up listening to her. _She’s_ the one my mother let me listen to when I couldn’t fall asleep when I was little. I still do that.”

“Do what? Listen to her?” Arthur asks sharply.

“Yeah. Do you want to hear?” Merlin asks. Arthur’s eyes widen a fraction. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and he nods. Merlin hesitates. “It’ll require magic.”

“Please, Merlin.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Merlin shuts his eyes to the darkness of the room, the total silence around them now that the record has stopped, and reaches for his magic. He searches for the right song to play for him. Merlin’s lips start to smile as soon as he comes across _Think of Me_. He lets his magic out easily and it washes over the room, filling every nook and cranny. He knows Arthur feels it; he tenses ever so slightly across from him, so Merlin blindly grabs his hand and holds on. Arthur squeezes once but he doesn’t let go.

Her voice is pure and clear, ideal for the role of Christine Daae. Merlin’s listened to this performance countless times over the years but now he can hear Arthur’s voice in his mother’s singing. He understands where the beauty of his voice originates. They have the same passion, the same skill and precision – Arthur is _so_ much like his mother in the way they both perform. Merlin can almost understand Uther’s reluctance to hear him sing.

Close to the end of the song Merlin opens his eyes. Arthur’s eyes are shut, his cheeks wet with tears, his lips mouthing along with his mother’s words. He looks like he’s trying to commit her to memory, gripping Merlin’s hand so tightly as though he’ll lose them both if he lets go.

Her voice swells on the highest notes at the end. Merlin’s magic reverberates with the sheer intensity and he finds himself clinging to Arthur’s hand, too, desperate to hold on to whatever this moment is. He bites back a rush of emotion as the song ends. Arthur’s grip on his hand loosens.

Arthur opens his eyes when quiet overtakes the room again. It’s suffocating. Merlin makes to pull away.

“Arthur—”

He releases his hand. Merlin feels bereft and hurt, but it’s extremely short-lived. In a blur of movement, Arthur knees the box aside and lunges into Merlin’s space. He stops just short of him; Merlin can feel Arthur’s sharp intake of breath as he cups his face and runs a thumb tentatively across his cheekbone. Merlin’s eyes flutter shut and he wets his lips. He leans into his touch, drawn to Arthur’s warmth, reaching for him and resting his hand on Arthur’s knee. Merlin feels a cautious brush of lips on his own.

“Is this—?”

Merlin presses his mouth to Arthur’s. The angle is clumsy at first but as soon as they both pull back just enough to fix it, desperation kicks in. He slides a hand around Arthur’s neck to his nape and draws him closer. Arthur, heat radiating off his body like the bloody sun, even in the dead of summer, kisses him fiercely and with as much passion and intensity as he does everything else. Merlin feels drunk off the slide of their lips, the feel of Arthur’s tongue gently dipping into his mouth, the weight of his body on his as they lie on the floor. One of Arthur’s hands tangle in his hair, the other resting on his hip, while he strays from Merlin’s mouth to kiss his nose, his cheeks, his jawbone and neck.

“Merlin,” Arthur sighs against his neck, nose brushing his racing pulse. “Merlin.”

“Yeah,” he agrees dazedly, understanding wholly and completely. He can feel Arthur smile on his skin where he presses his lips.

It’s so small, so simple a gesture, but it makes Merlin’s heart swell, his body ache in a rush of emotion that Merlin wasn’t prepared to feel – but there it is. Arthur, with a smile kissed into his neck, has consumed him, and it’s like looking into a mirror when Arthur looks up and meets Merlin’s gaze with that smile he saves just for Merlin.

Then he hears the heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. Merlin tenses. Arthur looks toward the door.

“Fuck.”

“Who is it?” Merlin whispers. Arthur climbs off him and hastily straightens out his clothes.

“My father,” he says. Arthur looks around, running his hands through his hair nervously. He hears the king reach the top of the steps and start making his way down the hall. Merlin stands and looks at the room frantically.

“Uh?”

“Hide!”

“What? No!”

“Just do it, Merlin. Trust me!”

Merlin groans and runs around the desk. He crawls into the space under it and pulls the desk chair in as close to his folded knees as possible. He desperately tries to his breathing and closes his eyes, shutting out the dank air and cool darkness, waiting for something to happen.

“Arthur,” comes a deep voice Merlin’s only heard a small handful of times in his life, always distorted by the poor radio signals in Ealdor. “What are you doing here?”

“I – looking. Just looking.”

“I heard music. It sounded like—”

“It was nothing,” Arthur says hastily.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” Uther says. “You’ll leave here at once and not come back. Do you understand?”

“Father, it’s ridiculous. I’m far from a child. I want to understand—”

“Then you come to me! You do not go behind my back,” Uther says harshly, “and betray my trust.”

“Father,” Arthur says weakly.

“It’s no matter now. We have more important matters to deal with,” Uther says, his tone evening out to utter professionalism. Merlin hears him pace to the side of the room around the desk near where Merlin thinks the record player sits. “I’ve received word that the insurgents are on the move. They’re taking to the streets as we speak.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing yet but they’re gathering in the open,” Uther replies. “You must strike now.”

“Father—”

“Their current headquarters is in Textile Factory 3A in the Darkling Quarter in building 1 on the first floor,” Uther says. “The foreman is a supporter and lends them his space there.”

Merlin’s biting into his sensitized lip so hard he can feel the skin break.

“How long have you known?” Arthur asks.

“Briefly. I’ve only just received confirmation today,” he replies. “My source tells me that one of the insurgent core groups will be there until tomorrow at noon. Ready your men and capture them after nightfall tonight.”

“We need a warrant—”

“You’ll have one,” Uther says curtly.

“This feels wrong.”

“You will prevent so much bloodshed in doing this, Arthur!” Uther professes. “You must act swiftly and with precision. Capture them, dead or alive. All of them. Even if they’re not on our lists, you must take them all in to the cells.”

“Here?”

“To Meleagant,” Uther says. Merlin freezes. He’s only heard the word once from Will. He looked so pale when he described the stories of escapees from Camelot’s highest security prison.

“Father,” Arthur protests. “We don’t have grounds for arresting civilians like that! That’s mad!”

“It’s a precaution we must take, Arthur. I’ve contacted all the other appropriate personnel for dealing with this. If you of all people don’t understand this necessity you will _never_ rule this kingdom, and if you do get that far then Camelot will surely fall to its knees.”

Silence holds the room with an iron grip.

“You will do as I say if you want the post of Commissioner,” Uther states.

“You’ve made that quite clear,” Arthur says. Merlin whimpers at the sheer desolation in his voice. He waits, hoping Arthur will say something else to refute Uther and, frankly, tell him _no_ , but no such argument comes.

“Then there’s nothing left to discuss.”

Uther takes a few steps toward the door then pauses.

“I know you’ll make me proud, Arthur. I have faith in you.”


	11. Defying Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Defying Gravity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IXzFOHrycHg)

**Merlin**

 

Merlin waits until he hears Uther’s steps fade down the stairwell before pushing the chair out and crawling from under the desk. He brushes dust out of his hair, standing slowly and turning to face Arthur. He’s leaning his hip against the front of the desk, staring at the box on the floor with a deep frown on his face. He crosses and uncrosses his arms a few times before Merlin clears his throat. He looks up, startled.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“What are you going to do?” Merlin asks.

“What do you mean?”

“About all that!” he exclaims, waving at the door through which Uther just left. Arthur purses his lips and looks away. Merlin feels like he’s poured cold water down his back. “You’re going to do it. You’ll follow his orders, won’t you?”

“I have no choice, Merlin,” says Arthur grimly. “It’s the only way. I need that post. It’s the only way I can make things better.”

“There has to be another way,” he says. “You know what’s coming. You can help people get out while they can!”

“Why would they need to get out?”

“Don’t play blind,” Merlin scowls. “This is the beginning. Your father… he’s not going to stop after he has the insurgents. People like me have been leaving Camelot ever since things started getting worse. People stop through Ealdor all the time, and now even people in Ealdor are leaving. It’s not safe for us anymore, but you can help!”

“By what? Consorting with the enemy?”

“The enemy?” Merlin repeats. “I can’t believe this. What enemy? We’re not your enemy!”

“People like you are causing death and destruction!”

“Yes, because people like _you_ keep murdering us in cold blood! It hasn’t stopped at all in the last twenty-five years, and it’s gotten ten times worse in the last year,” Merlin shouts.

“I’m trying to help!” he shouts back. Arthur pulls at his hair desperately. “Please, Merlin. You have to understand. This is the only way I know how to help.”

“At what cost? How many people are going to be hurt because of your father’s ultimatum over your bloody prize? He’s playing you! He knows exactly how—”

“Shut up! You don’t know a _damn_ thing—”

Merlin snaps his mouth shut. He takes a few steps back and waits. Arthur breathes in deeply and says,

“I don’t want that for anyone. I don’t want anyone to die.”

“This won’t bring peace. Think about it.”

“Tell me what else I can do, Merlin. Please. I don’t – my father’s wrong on every level, but I have to play his game. I have to _win_ if I want to change things! If you’ve got a better plan, by all means—”

“You really should’ve thought about that before you got into this _game_ ,” Merlin spits. Arthur blinks. “It’s not a fucking game, Arthur. This is real. Politics is a game, and you can do that here in the palace, but out there – it’s real.”

“I know,” he says helplessly.

“Then stop this,” Merlin implores. “I know you can. You don’t have to do what he says.”

“He’s the king.”

“He’s your father.”

“I _can’t_.”

Merlin stares at him. Disappointment must read clearly on his face. Arthur takes one look at him and turns away.

“I’m sorry, Merlin. It’s a sacrifice I have to make. I promise I’ll do anything I can to keep people from getting hurt,” he says, almost whispers.

“That’s not enough.”

“Merlin.” Arthur crosses the room in three quick steps, framing Merlin with his arms, trying to pull him into his arms, and it practically shatters Merlin’s heart to pull away with hands thrown up in defense.

“I can’t.”

“Merlin,” he chokes out. “Please. I – I need your help.”

“I have to do something – but I can’t do this,” Merlin says, shaking his head. He can feel a sob creeping up his throat, his arms starting to shake. Arthur is a magnet and he wants nothing more than to take him into his arms and tell him it’ll be okay and he can cry into his shoulder if he likes, but he just _can’t_.

“I’ll find another way to help, even if you won’t,” Merlin says, a trill of anger mixing with the relentless sadness settling on his shoulders. He shuts his eyes and draws a shuddering breath. His throat feels too dry, his eyes too wet, tears leaking out as he squeezes them tightly closed. He starts to turn away so when he opens his eyes, he only sees half of Arthur’s form.

“Please, Merlin.”

He can’t bear to look back at the face that spoke those broken words.

“I’ll see you at rehearsal,” he says barely loudly enough for Arthur to hear him. He walks out, back stiff and straight, head held high.

It’s a long way to the Repertory, but a walk like this is just what Merlin needs. He can deal with Arthur after rehearsal when he has the privacy of his flat and he’s not in palace illegally.

His chest hurts at the thought of him. Merlin pauses at the bottom of the stairs and listens. The whole stairwell and floor above are silent. Merlin pushes forward and walks on.

\---

Only once he’s on the outer edge of the Citadel does Merlin see the beginnings of chaos. The streets are increasingly unruly near the gates to the heart of Camelot and all the people are moving inward. Merlin imagines them filling Victory Avenue, marching on Pendragon Plaza and demanding the king emerge from the folds of his palace. Merlin can also imagine them setting fire to government buildings and causing explosions out of thin air, knocking out officers on the scene with only a thought.

“Oi! Watch out!” a man shouts.

Merlin looks up from the pavement just in time to see several people barreling at him with a tarp stretched between them carrying what look like glowing bricks. Merlin hurls himself out of the way before they could run him over. Three more groups of people run by with the same cargo before Merlin can force himself off the ground. He ducks into the alley behind him and waits for the crowd to pass.

He looks down the street where they’re all headed for the center of the Citadel. He feels a jolt of fear for Arthur, but he knows he’s more than capable of protecting himself. Merlin, on the other hand—

A loud _bang_ goes off and shakes the ground under him. Merlin scrambles out of the alley. From another alley officers in full gear with their sturdy black vests, protective visors, and blazing guns pour out and create a wall across the street, cutting Merlin off from the danger. One of them looks over his shoulder and sees him. He waves at him to get out. Merlin doesn’t hesitate, especially when he feels his magic start to prickle.

Merlin makes it through the gates unnoticed by the growing throng of insurgents and officers. The tension crackling in the air feels ready to set afire at any moment. Merlin swallows dryly, sweating in the intense heat radiating from the Citadel walls. His magic startles and flips in his gut. Merlin clenches his teeth and takes off at a run. Boxes are strewn across the streets, all of the same shape with the same triskelion symbol emblazoned on the side. Merlin almost trips over them several times before he reaches the main road feeding into the Citadel from the surrounding quarters.

He eventually slows to a jog, grateful for the gentle rain shower starting as he reaches the cool narrow streets in the center of the DeBois quarter. Things are quiet outside the Citadel. The families he sees returning home from an afternoon in the park are entirely unaware what’s happening not fifteen minutes away. It’s surely all over the news, and by morning Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if Uther called for everyone to keep to their homes, if not a formal halt of traffic in and out of Camelot.

_I’ve contacted all the appropriate personnel._

Uther’s words send a worrisome chill down Merlin’s spine. The wind gusts and he shivers more intensely. Merlin starts to run again and heads straight for Gwen’s flat. Uther’s words play on repeat in his head almost as loudly as Arthur’s litany of _I can’t_. Merlin grunts and runs faster.

\---

“Merlin!” Gwen gasps when she opens her door. “Get inside. It’s wretched out there!”

He shakes water off like a wet dog and looks at her sheepishly.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine! Sit, sit, I’ll find a towel and clothes—”

She bustles him into a chair at the kitchen table before he can even remove his muddy shoes. Merlin toes them off and places them by the door, careful not to drip too much on the floor. Gwen returns with some of Lance’s clothes and a towel.

“Do you want to shower? You’ve got just enough time before rehearsal,” Gwen says. Merlin considers it, then nods. He ducks into the bathroom and washes off as quickly as possible. When he returns to the kitchen feeling soft and refreshed in Lance’s clothes, which fit surprisingly well, though the trousers are a bit loose, Gwen’s setting tea and biscuits on the table.

“You’re a saint,” Merlin moans. He descends on the spread and gets through half a cookie before he notices Gwen’s curious stare. “What?”

“You seem a little off,” she says.

“It’s… complicated. Do me a favor and stay home tonight,” Merlin says. Her gaze hardens.

“What’s wrong?” she demands.

“It’s – there were some problems in the Citadel. It might spread,” Merlin sighs. There’s really no use lying to Gwen. “The insurgents are taking to the streets right now. It looks like it’s going to get ugly.”

When Gwen doesn’t respond, Merlin looks up from his teacup. Her face is pale, her eyes wide.

“I…,” she starts. She blinks rapidly. “I hoped – Merlin, there’s something I’ve been keeping to myself.”

“What is it?” Merlin asks, frowning.

“Morgana’s been by here a lot,” Gwen says, looking down and swallowing slowly. “She’s been acting strangely. I thought I’d stop by the theater yesterday to talk to her about the costumes and the set and try to cheer her up but she was there with Morgause and they were saying things I just didn’t understand. I mean, I did, but I never thought—”

“Breathe, Gwen. Please.”

She nods and wipes at her eyes.

“They were talking about a plan they had, and then they mentioned the king, and the Priestesses, and then someone else in the play – Kara, I think – showed up and they were talking – Merlin, it’s _them_. They’re behind all this. They’re the Priestesses,” Gwen says. She can’t stop the tears from sliding down her face now.

“That makes sense,” Merlin murmurs after a while of quiet.

“What?”

“Arthur and I had a hunch,” Merlin admits. “We knew she was on the side of the insurgents but I didn’t think they were actually the Priestesses.”

“I should have said something sooner,” Gwen says, gnawing on her lip.

“It’s okay, Gwen,” Merlin says fiercely, taking her hand between his own. “We’re going to handle this.”

“How? What are we going to do?”

“Well, I have my shitty magic,” Merlin says, grinning and waving his fingers, “and we do have Arthur.”

Merlin’s voice catches on Arthur’s name.

“What happened? I thought you were spending the day with him.”

Merlin shakes his head.

“Something not so good,” Merlin says, “but he has time to change his mind.”

“He might,” Gwen says kindly. He doesn’t believe that at all, and it’s clear that Gwen doesn’t really either, because they both know Arthur well. He nods for both of their sakes and eats another cookie, content to let the sound of the rain rapping on the window distract him.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

Uther eventually makes it to the dining room where Morgana has already eaten most of the finger sandwiches and drunk a full pot of tea. He looks momentarily confused before putting on an apologetic smile and sitting next to her.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” he says, opening a napkin on his lap.

“Is everything all right?” Morgana asks.

“It’s nothing. I’ve put my best men on the job,” Uther replies. He sounds confident and in control, more so than Morgana would have liked.

“Should I be worried at all?”

“I’d ask that you stay home tonight,” Uther says, “but I doubt I’ll be able to persuade you. If you must go, go now.”

“Why? What’s happening?”

“Insurgents are on the move. We’re dealing with it, but it won’t be safe in a few hours,” says Uther. He pauses. “Perhaps I should send some protection detail with you.”

“I’ll be all right,” Morgana says hastily. “I’ll go to the summer home tonight if it would make you feel better.”

“It would,” Uther says, his whole body relaxing. “Thank you, Morgana.”

“I’ll go pack a bag,” she says. She stands and touches his shoulder lightly on her way to the door.

For the sake of maintaining appearances, Morgana does throw a few shirts in a duffle bag. She looks out her window and can see the glow of the magic on the streets. A blur of movement catches her eye; she sees Merlin, unmistakable with his gangly figure and massive ears, even from two floors above the ground, crossing the gardens with clipped, quick steps. He almost trips over a bench. He pauses, looking momentarily confused, shocked out of his thoughts, before running out of sight.

It doesn’t take Morgana long to find Arthur walking slowly with a deep frown on his face down a corridor on the ground floor.

“Lurking in the shadows, Morgana?” he asks upon seeing her.

“Hardly. I’m heading out early. Apparently there’s trouble brewing.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Arthur says, the teasing tone half-hearted and dull.

“I just saw Merlin leaving,” she says as lightly as possible. Arthur’s shoulder tense immediately. “Don’t you usually drive him to rehearsal?”

“He… we had a disagreement.”

“How diplomatic of you. No. Why don’t you tell me what really happened?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he says curtly, though his voice shakes at the end. He squares his shoulders and some of the tension drops. “I have to go down to the DoME. I might be a little late to rehearsal.”

“We won’t wait for you.”

“I know,” he replies, looking out at the gardens and the rain falling. Arthur tucks his hands in his pockets and waves as he walks off, back straight and set, looking every bit the soldier he’s trained to be. Yet he doesn’t seem eager for battle; he dreads it. Morgana’s never quite seen that in him before.

For the first time in a long time, it saddens her that he probably won’t survive the coming weeks.

\---

She takes routes she knows won’t give her trouble. She passes a few families rounding up children in cars and heading away from Camelot. One news network is reporting on the damage already done to some of the shops in the Citadel. Morgana sighs in annoyance as she passes the television in the window where she sees this. The last thing she wanted was for everyone to get carried away before they could do what they set out to do.

Morgause, Kara, Mordred, and the others are waiting in the theater when she arrives. They’re gathered on the stage, and they suddenly stop talking when she reaches them. She arches an eyebrow at Mordred, who pales two shades instantly. Morgana smirks and climbs onstage.

“How are we feeling?” Morgana asks. They respond in faint murmurs.

“We’re ready,” Morgause says, nodding.

“Good.”

“We want to know what’ll happen after tonight,” Kara says suddenly.

“You knew the risks going into this,” says Morgana.

“I want to know exactly what’ll become of us,” she demands.

“You’ll have made a difference. A huge difference, in fact,” she replies calmly. “In a few minutes we’ll be able to get through the last barrier. We’ll have the Underground at our disposal and everything that comes with it, and _you’ll_ have played a central role in getting us there. You’ve all done something incredible for our people.”

“The true druids are unhappy with us,” Mordred says. Kara shoots him a black look. “They don’t condone the violence inherent in your plans.”

“Then go,” she says, waving a hand. “I won’t stop you, but I guarantee that if you remain, you’ll continue doing this work, and that’s ten times better than sitting on your thumbs in the forest with your friends and the woodland creatures.”

“And if the officials figure us out?”

“We’ve got it sorted,” Morgause interrupts. “We have had this planned for a long time.”

“How?”

“The officials are going to be occupied for a while, and by the time they realize what’s gone wrong, we’ll have the advantage we need,” Morgause replies. She gazes at Kara coolly. “It’s very poor form to doubt us, Kara.”

“I don’t doubt. I only want to know what’s going on,” she says. Morgana can sense the fire in her settling down.

“It’s almost time,” Morgana says. “Let’s go.”

Kara looks like she wants to argue, but Mordred nudges her and she goes willingly. They file down through the trapdoor as always and go to the mess of rubble surrounding a clear semicircle before the entrance to the Underground. The last barrier stands shimmering blue and opaque. The dragon says nothing when they arrive; it has been oddly silent the last few times they’ve been here.

They get into formation. Morgana stands directly across from the entrance with Morgause on her left, Mordred on her right. All seven of them link hands with only Morgana’s right hand free to hold her mobile phone.

It rings after five minutes of meditation.

“Yes?” she answers.

“We’re set,” Aglain responds. “Do the spell. Call if something’s wrong.”

Morgana hangs up and drops the phone in her pocket. She takes Mordred’s hand and shuts her eyes. The magic between them is amplified tenfold once she utters a few simple words, a spell she learned from the true druids. Only they have proper magical links to the earth and the power it holds, and only they can utilize it, but this is as close as Morgana can get. The magic they’ve stored in the bundles that double as explosives comes alive across the city. It surges, directed at Morgana, channels through all seven of them, and it _holds._

She gasps under the intensity of it. Mordred grips her hand more tightly. When she feels their magic is collectively steady and thrumming evenly, when she feels they have a handle on the magic surging at them from within the Citadel – Morgana opens her eyes and focuses all her energy on that last barrier.

Morgause starts the spell. They’ve all learned it by heart, considering how many times they’ve done it, with both success and failure. Morgana feels her lips move without giving it conscious thought. They’re connected so deeply that she hardly feels her body, only her magic, set like a laser on the broken doorway before them.

The spell ends, the magic breaks free and it feels like they’re all thrown bodily at the barrier, then thrown back. The whole building shakes. For a moment, Morgana fears it’ll fall on their heads, and the fear deepens when her magic hasn’t recovered enough to stabilize the building, but the dust settles quickly. The barrier is a dimmer shade of blue and doesn’t quite shimmer as brilliantly, but it still stands. She looks at her watch and wipes the dirt off the face. They have thirty minutes until the rehearsal starts, and then they’ll have to end the enchantment on the bundles for a while.

With a growl Morgana stands and declares,

“Again.”

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

The DoME is in chaos when Arthur enters the main floor. Just as he comes in, Lance is grabbing his coat and heading for the door.

“What’s going on?” says Arthur, grabbing Lance’s arm as he tries to sneak by.

“Insurgents on the streets are putting up a barricade.”

“Where?”

“Leon and Percival are out there scouting right now,” says Lance. He looks at the door desperately. “I need to go, Arthur.”

“Of course,” he says, quickly releasing him. “Getting to Gwen?”

“I’m taking her to my flat. I figure we’ll be safer there if we’re farther from the action,” Lance says quietly.

“Perhaps,” says Arthur. He pauses. “Actually, you won’t. Their nest is at the factory where you used to work. It’s going to be as bad as it is here by tomorrow evening.”

Lance’s eyes go wide.

“Hurry up and get your shit from your flat,” Arthur says. “Get Merlin’s things, too.”

Lance’s lips twitch into an almost-smile that makes Arthur want to drive a letter opener through his chest. The smile falls.

“Go!” Arthur orders.

Lance wastes no time. He’s out the door in seconds. Arthur turns to the main floor and glances at the clock. He has just enough time to sort out a plan before getting to the rehearsal.

“Everyone, fall in!” Arthur shouts. His team snaps to attention and forms the usual circle around Arthur in the middle of the floor. “Report.”

“They’ve gathered in the streets around the palace,” Leon says. “It looks like a lot of them have come down the Fallen Kings route.”

“Prioritize stabilizing that entrance,” Arthur nods. “What else?”

“They haven’t done anything yet but run around with glowing blocks,” Kay scowls. “If you heard an explosion earlier, that’s because one of them dropped one and it detonated. It’s pure magic in those things.”

“Like a PA89 detonator?”

“Think… the strength of three of those in one package,” Kay says. Arthur grimaces.

“Right. Do we know if our armor holds up?”

“No. The officers on the ground weren’t our men and didn’t have magic-resistant stuff on them,” Leon says.

“I’ve sent word that they should use our spare gear,” says Percival.

“Good.”

They show Arthur the map of the city marked with where they know the insurgents have congregated. Arthur knew there were a lot of them, but he didn’t realize how numerous they are until now.

“Add extra security for the king, and double up on streets that go into residential areas,” says Arthur. “The king will probably issue a halt of traffic sometime in the next twenty-four hours, so we’re going to divvy up the residential areas and help as many people get out as possible. They need to go anywhere but the Citadel and the Darkling quarter. If they can get out of Camelot it’d be even better.”

“Do you really think we’re going to need to hold out for so long?” Kay asks.

“I do,” Arthur says grimly. “This is only the beginning. This isn’t just a squabble in the streets. This is the war we’ve been waiting for.”

The room is tense and solemn as everyone takes in Arthur’s words.

“We’ve prepared for this. We’re ready to handle the situation,” Arthur says firmly. “We are going to keep the people of Camelot safe and we’re going to make sure the risk is eliminated.”

Arthur watches everyone’s ears perk up. Kay clutches the file in his hand in a white-knuckled grip.

Arthur almost has to force the words out.

“Tomorrow at 0400 hours we will convene here and prepare to enter the insurgent nest,” says Arthur. “I have the precise location. Our instructions are to take everyone and all those who might be involved with the insurgents. Those are our orders.”

He pauses to gauge his men’s reactions, but he can’t quite see, and he can’t hear past the blood pounding in his ears.

“I’ll repeat this when we convene in the morning but I’m ordering you to allow as many innocents to go free as possible. I don’t want anyone to get hurt or to arrest anyone who doesn’t need to be,” Arthur states. “Is that clear?”

Murmurs of “absolutely” and “yes, sir,” fill the circle.

“Good. I’ll be back by midnight. At that time I want a report from at least a few of you of who’s covered what parts of the Citadel and what’s become of the residents you’ve escorted,” says Arthur.

He pushes out of the circle, ignoring Kay’s questioning look as he makes for the door just as the phones start ringing. Arthur knows they’ll be okay. He knows his men will follow his orders and do their best to keep innocent people safe, but he _knows_ that nothing about the whole situation is okay. Arthur feels sick for now having seen it sooner, but it’s too late. He’s too far into the game to quit now. Somehow he has to find a way to actually beat his father before his father beats him.

As Arthur gets into his car and starts the engine, he sees an explosion down the street in the direction of the palace gates in the rear view mirror. He revs the engine, a pulse of magic nudging his car away from the heart of the city.

\---

Arthur stops by Merlin and Lance’s flat, but there’s no one home. He didn’t think Lance would get in and out of there quite so quickly when he only left the DoME ten minutes before Arthur did. Arthur waits only a few minutes before turning back and driving away. He calls Morgana on the way, but gets no response. He stops at a pizzeria and gets a few pies anyway. By the time Arthur gets to the Repertory, the rehearsal has already started. They sound fantastic even warming up. Arthur slips into the theater and leaves the pizzas on the directorial desk. Morgana grabs Arthur’s sleeve before he can go up to the stage.

“What?” he snaps.

“I was going to ask if you sorted things out yet,” she says slowly, “but I’ll take that as a no.”

Arthur shakes free of her grip and stalks up to the stage. He takes his usual place next to Merlin and warms up, doing his very best not to look at him, knowing it’ll all be shot to hell if he does. Arthur’s not exactly sure what will happen – maybe he’ll drop to his knees and start begging him to listen, or maybe he’ll throw himself off the stage in a fit of anguish at the sight of Merlin’s absolute disappointment – but it won’t be good.

The music manages to steady him. Well, it steadies him at least until he remembers the sound of his mother’s voice filling that small room in the palace, Merlin’s face just short of lax in spite of being concentrated on the task looking like the most beautiful person Arthur’s ever seen. His eyes glow gold under his eyelids as the music rings out and gently encircles him. He risks glancing at Merlin now and wants just as much as before to kiss him senseless.

The idea of having lost that closeness between them so quickly almost does Arthur in. He stumbles on a higher note. Merlin looks at him curiously, but not long enough for Arthur to catch his eye. He takes a deep breath and makes it through the rest of the exercises. The cast relaxes while Morgana converses with Morgause quietly. They make their way to the stage.

“We have a new rehearsal schedule for you. Make sure to pick one up before leaving tonight,” says Morgana. “Tonight we’re going to try going straight through from _One Short Day_ to _Wonderful_ , and then we’ll see where that puts us. We’ll go through each of the musical numbers individually first, especially _Defying Gravity_ and _Wonderful_ since we haven’t done those fully, and then we’ll put it all together.”

“Set up for _One Short Day_ ,” Morgause barks out. Everyone scrambles and starts pulling set pieces onto the stage. Arthur finds himself with Merlin rolling one particularly large piece into the background. They wander offstage near the back.

Arthur watches Gwen arrange some of the new additions to the set before going to attend to the backdrop. The massive painting unfurls in a blur of gold and green.

“Are we going to talk about this?” Merlin asks once the noise starts to settle.

“Yes. I hope,” Arthur adds. “I don’t know what to say right now.”

“Me neither,” Merlin replies sadly. “I wish—”

“I do, too.”

Morgause shouts for them.

“Later?” Merlin asks. He looks so hopeful.

“Next break,” Arthur promises. “We’ll talk properly.”

Merlin starts to walk away. Arthur catches his arm and starts to tug him back without thinking. Merlin doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t look particularly happy about it either.

“What?” he asks, confused. Arthur wants nothing more than to smooth the lines off his forehead. He lets his hand fall from Merlin’s elbow, trailing down the inside of his forearm, until he reaches his hand. Arthur grips it lightly, lacing his fingers through, and squeezes. Arthur holds his breath, waiting for something, a kiss, a slap, maybe a shove into the wall, just _something_ , because Arthur can wait to talk, but he can’t bear total silence right now.

Merlin squeezes back and holds on, leading him onto the stage.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

“We’ve never done this one together out here,” Merlin says a little breathlessly. He tosses a water bottle at Arthur and downs half of his own.

“Have we even sung it together?” Arthur asks. Merlin pauses.

“Huh. I guess not.”

“Should be fun,” Arthur says with a twist of a smile. He drains his bottle and tosses it in the recycling bin. Merlin looks past Arthur at where they’re still setting up the flying monkeys for the scenes right before _Defying Gravity_.

“Looks like we have a minute,” Merlin says quietly. He sits on his usual box and waits for Arthur to join him. He looks as nervous as Merlin feels.

“I had to give the order,” Arthur says.

“Already?” he yelps.

“Shh! Yes! I had to get the team organized and tell them what to expect,” Arthur says wearily. He hunches over and holds his head on his hands before leaning back against the wall, practically facing the ceiling. It’s almost like when they were slouched in the chairs in Arthur’s office yesterday, but it’s a poor imitation. “We’re getting as many civilians out of the Citadel tonight as possible.”

“What about the insurgent nest?”

“Later tonight. I’ve told them to let as many innocent people go,” Arthur replies. “I wish I didn’t have to do this, Merlin.”

“Then don’t.”

“I can’t! Don’t you see? It’s my job! I can’t disobey a direct order like this!” Arthur says heatedly. He looks more like he’s berating himself than Merlin, so he holds his ground. “I – I’m not going to amount to anything if I don’t do this. It’s for the greater good.”

“Do you really think it’s worth it?”

“I don’t kn– it _has_ to be worth it.”

“What about your father? Is he really going to let you change the laws against people he still hates so much?” Merlin asks. Arthur hesitates.

“He promised he would. That was our agreement. I have to believe he will.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“I’ll handle it then.”

“What if it means people die?”

“I can’t do anything about that!”

“You’re supposed to! Isn’t that what this is all about?”

“Yes, in the long run!”

“Why can’t you admit you’re just trying to please your father?” Merlin snaps. Arthur’s mouth shuts slowly. “Arthur. Look at yourself. Please. You’re trying to do all the right things and you know it, but you’re trying to do it Uther’s way. That’s why it’s not working. He’s convinced you it’ll be okay to let some people get hurt if it means you having the power to make a difference, but it’s _not_.”

“What, then? What do I do about it?”

“Tell him no, for fuck’s sake!” Merlin shouts. A few cast members look over their shoulders at him. Merlin angles his body away from them and corners Arthur. “You’re not a child. You’re an adult. You don’t have to do things his way.”

“It’s the only way I can get what I need, Merlin! Why don’t you see that?”

“No! Why don’t _you_ see that you’re not going to get what you want? You’re giving him what he wants,” Merlin says. He takes a deep breath. “He’s manipulating you.”

“He’s not,” Arthur says, but there’s little energy in his words. His voice cracks. His throat works, Adam’s apple bobbing a few times before he speaks again. “He wouldn’t do that. He has Camelot’s best interests at heart.”

“Yes, but he probably doesn’t have the same idea of what’s good for Camelot as you and I do,” Merlin replies. “Look. If there’s one thing we know out in the country about the king and his lawmakers, it’s that he hates magic more than anything and they do whatever they can to keep us down.”

“That’s a stereotype left over from the days of the Purge,” Arthur scoffs.

“Ever taken a psychology class? Stereotypes, bad or good, are based in some truth, however small,” Merlin shoots back. “You don’t feel it as intensely in here. Everyone blends together,” he sighs, “but out in Ealdor and places like that, it’s really fucking obvious. You’ve got targets and hunters, people without magic who support the king’s rules and people with magic.”

“It shouldn’t be like that,” Arthur says.

“Nope, but it is. They’re not wrong. Maybe you don’t see because you’ve been around Uther and his men all your life, but it’s the truth.”

Merlin waits, catching his breath. Arthur doesn’t look at him. He looks so stiff and tired; he’s surely got a long night ahead. He drops his head, his chin almost on his chest. He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair, then over his face.

“I don’t know. You might be right,” he says. “I don’t know though. I don’t have a damn way of knowing. How do I know you’re not trying to manipulate me too?”

“How could you say that?” Merlin gasps.

“That’s what I mean! You’re telling me my _father_ is doing this to me? Can’t you imagine how hard this is for me to even consider?” Arthur demands. He deflates. “Merlin, you might be right, but I can’t fucking know for sure, and certainly not before I need to carry out my orders.”

“Then _don’t_.”

“It doesn’t work like that!” Arthur bursts. “It just doesn’t! I’m – I’m a military man. I can’t just ignore an order.”

“Yes you can!”

“Maybe once I give it more thought, but I can’t right now. I have to focus on keeping people safe. I have to make do with what the situation is,” Arthur says. He shuts his eyes. “Try to understand – this really is the best I can do. I don’t have a choice in the matter right now.”

Merlin’s voice catches on the lump in his throat. He blinks rapidly and stands up. He turns his back to the cast and lowers his voice.

“You do. Gwen said something pretty smart to me, too, you know,” says Merlin, suddenly angry all over again, even though he was sure he’d talked it all out of his system with Gwen, but Arthur bloody Pendragon has a way of working miracles like this. “She said that sometimes it’s easier to think you don’t have a choice. But you always do, even if it’s easier to think you don’t. She’s right. She’s always bloody right.”

“Merlin—”

It’s a sad parody of the way Arthur called for him earlier at the palace. He sounds annoyed, like Merlin shouldn’t even be pushing the matter so hard, which only makes Merlin angrier. Arthur grabs his shoulder and turns him around before he can part the curtain and make for the safety of the stage.

“I’m going to help people get out,” Merlin tells him before Arthur speaks. “I’m going to find the right people to talk to and I’ll help smuggle people with magic out of Camelot before your father restarts the Purge in full. Maybe I’ll even go back to Ealdor and help out there.”

“He won’t—”

“He _will_ , and I’m not going to stand by and do nothing.”

“I never said I would!”

“I didn’t either!” Merlin hisses. “I’m just—”

“I’m doing things my way, just like you’re doing things your way. Can we at least accept that?” Arthur asks. Merlin meets his eye. There’s something there that makes some of the anger fade away.

“For now.”

Arthur smiles, half-grimacing, and pulls the curtain back. They step onto the stage just as Morgause starts shouting for them.

_Merlin_.

He stops short. Merlin looks around, but there’s no one close enough but Arthur, and that certainly wasn’t Arthur’s voice. No, that man sounded absolutely ancient.

_Merlin. There are matters we must discuss_.

He jumps at that one. Arthur catches his arm.

“Did you trip?”

“No,” Merlin says shakily.

“You’d manage to trip over thin air,” Arthur replies with authority. Merlin flicks his arm hard and crosses the stage to his mark. He throws a look over his shoulder and sticks his tongue out at Arthur. For a moment, they’re almost all right, but Merlin can’t shake the tension they’ve generated, the tentative peace, nor the voice that came out of nowhere and spoke in Merlin’s head.

He waits, listening, but the voice doesn’t speak again. He takes a steadying breath.

“Something wrong?” Morgana asks. Merlin blinks at her, momentarily wonders why she’s on-stage, and shakes his head. “Then why aren’t we starting?”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Their wizard is Morgana. Right.

They breeze through the introductions and _A Sentimental Man_. Merlin didn’t quite realize how beautiful a voice Morgana has. It makes sense, her being Arthur’s sister, but it doesn’t stop Merlin from marveling a little. He catches Arthur glaring at him and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Merlin gets through Chistery’s transformation. Between having both Morgana and Morgause on stage with them, he fumbles a few lines and doesn’t quite nail the execution of the spell. His magic prickles when he tries a little harder to get the words right so he rushes through to the end. Arthur edges closer to him, as though he knows exactly what’s going on his head and why his hands have gotten so shaky he almost drops the Grimmerie.

_“Won’t they make perfect spies?”_ Morgause gushes.

_“Spies?”_ Merlin exclaims.

_“You’re right, that’s a harsh word,”_ Morgana nods. _“How about scouts? That’s what they’ll be really. They’ll fly around Oz, report any subversive Animal activity!”_

Merlin feels a rush of hate at the gleam in Morgana’s eye. It’s not acting. She’s truly happy about something, and whatever it is, it can’t possibly be good for the rest of them. The rest of the scene passes in a blur. Merlin runs off-stage on cue and catches his breath. He steadies himself, steadies his prickling magic, while Arthur, Morgana, and Morgause finish off the scene.

He busies himself with a water bottle while Morgana orders the rest of the cast to go with Morgause to rehearse _Thank Goodness_.

“Boys! Time to roll!”

It’s unsurprisingly easy to play off Arthur’s angry Glinda while he tries to block off an imaginary door with the only prop they have on stage right now – the broom. Merlin’s hand shakes as he holds it in place.

 

_“Elphaba, why couldn’t you have stayed calm for once,”_ Arthur rounds on him and jabs him in the chest, _“instead of flying off the handle—_

_“I hope you’re happy!_

_I hope you’re happy now_

_I hope you’re happy that you’ve hurt your cause forever_

_I hope you think you’re clever—”_

 

Merlin advances on Arthur, driving him into the middle of the stage, singing,

 

_“I hope you’re happy!_

_I hope you’re happy too_

_I hope you’re proud how you would grovel in submission_

_To feed your own ambition—”_

They look to each other and sing together,

_“So though I can’t imagine how_

_I hope you’re happy – right now.”_

 

Merlin meets Arthur’s eye, heart thumping, Arthur looking just as intent as Merlin feels with the words hanging between them. They may have made some peace, but Arthur’s begging Merlin now just as much as Glinda is begging Elphaba.

 

_“_ _You can still be with the Wizard,_

_All you’ve worked and waited for;_

_You can have all you’ve ever wanted—”_

_“I don’t want it –_

_No. I can’t want it anymore.”_

Merlin turns to the audience – to Morgana – and takes a breath.

_“Something has changed within me._

_Something is not the same._

_I’m through with playing by_

_The rules of someone else’s game...”_

 

He chances a glance at Arthur, whose lips are pressed tightly together, looking pale and almost ill, like he might fall over. Merlin passes by him and touches his hand, hoping it’ll help, but he doesn’t get the chance to check. Elphaba requires all his attention right now. Arthur sings back at him, but Merlin takes the stage, the music consuming him and slowly vaporizing all the nervousness that set his magic alight only minutes before.

 

_“I’m through accepting limits_

_‘Cuz someone says they’re so._

_Some things I cannot change_

_but ‘til I try I’ll never know!_

_Too long I’ve been afraid of_

_Losing love – I guess I’ve lost!_

_Well if that’s love,_

_It comes at much too high a cost!_

_I’d sooner buy defying gravity_

_Kiss me goodbye – I’m defying gravity!_

_And you can’t bring me down.”_

 

Morgana shouts the lines of the guard banging on the door where Elphaba and Glinda are hiding. Merlin shouts in frustration and chants the levitation spell. His magic stirs, but he can press it back down.

 

_“I told you, Glinda,”_ Merlin exclaims, holding the broom out as it “floats” between him and Arthur. Arthur looks awed and horrified. _“I did it!”_

 

Morgana bangs on her desk as the guard tries to get into the room. Merlin turns to Arthur quickly and holds the broom out.

 

_“Quick! Get on!”_

_“What?”_ he exclaims.

_“Glinda. Come with me,”_ Merlin says solemnly, a tiny smile threatening to form on his face. _“Think of what we could do… together.”_

_“Unlimited, together we’re unlimited._

_Together we’ll be the greatest team there’s ever been, Glinda…_

_Dreams the way we’ve planned ‘em—”_

_“If we work in tandem,”_ Arthur sings, starting to beam, the smile almost reaching his eyes, making Merlin wish the words they’re singing to each other were true.

_“There’s no fight we cannot win!_

_Just you and I defying gravity_

_With you and I defying gravity—”_

_“They’ll never bring us down,”_ Merlin sings. He pauses, hears his voice echo back at him, and says, _“Well? Are you coming?”_

 

Arthur offers him a cloak and gently places the cloth over his shoulder, his hand grazing his neck. Merlin shudders. He steps away from the broom, his eyes wide and a little afraid and sad.

 

_“_ _I hope you’re happy now that you’re choosing this,”_ he sings softly.

_“You too,”_ Merlin says. The cloth on his shoulders feels ten times heavier all of a sudden. _“I hope it brings you bliss.”_

 

Merlin means every damn word of their well-wishing. He hates how much it feels like a goodbye. They’re acting, but something feels too real. Arthur is shaking when he pulls him into a hug and Merlin knows he feels it, too.

There’s a loud bang, which Merlin assumes is Morgana’s cue for the guards bursting in, so he barrels into the end of the song.

 

_“So if you care to find me_

_Look to the western sky._

_As someone told me lately_

_Everyone deserves the chance to fly!_

_And if I’m flying solo,_

_At least I’m flying free!_

_To those who ground me, take a message back from me—”_

 

Merlin sees the back doors of the theater wide open. Lance stands there, and not far behind him, Gaius. He pauses, momentarily confused, but the music, the magic thrumming through his body like a high, doesn’t let him stop.

 

_“Tell them how I am defying gravity._

_I’m flying high, defying gravity!_

_And soon I’ll match them in renown._

_And nobody in all of Oz,_

_No wizard that there is or was,_

_Is ever going to bring me down!”_

 

He hears Arthur sing his last lines. He’s too focused on holding his note to see Lance run halfway down the aisle and stop short of Morgana’s desk. She looks back at him questioningly, but she doesn’t say anything to him.

Merlin finally releases the note and feels his magic burst. The panic subsides immediately as the magic washes over him like a spot of sunshine on a cloudy day, like an unexpected smile from someone lovely, nothing like the violence and damage he’s caused in the past. Merlin takes a few deep breaths and he slowly regains hearing. The tunnel vision subsides, and _then_ he can see the plain panic and worry on Lance’s face, and how it’s mirrored on Gaius’s.

He suddenly feels cold all over.

Merlin jumps off the stage and runs to Lance, who drags him to the back of the theater away from Morgana’s complaints and Arthur’s questioning looks. Merlin turns his back to them.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your parents and Will,” Lance says. He has a thin layer of sweat on his face. It’s just as hot and humid outside as ever. “They’ve been attacked.”

“What?”

“The men you saw commit that hate crime broke into their house,” Lance explains. “Gaius was calling the flat when I got there, so I went back to the Citadel to get him. He has train tickets and money and papers for all of you to get out of Camelot.”

His vision starts to tilt. A strong hand grabs his shoulders and shakes him.

“Merlin?”

“It’s a lot to take in,” he breathes. Merlin swallows dryly and nods. “Are they alive?”

“William is okay,” Gaius explains, stepping closer. “Your mother was recovering, according to the physicians I spoke to, but your father was very badly hurt.”

“Fuck,” Merlin mutters, wiping at the tears running out his eyes. “You said you’ve got tickets?”

“To Ealdor, yes,” Gaius nods. “I’ll be able to get them out of the hospital for you, but from there, you’ll have to help them get over the Mercian border, no matter what condition they’re in.”

“They need to recover!”

“They won’t live long enough. Merlin, these people will get to them before us if we don’t hurry, and they certainly have the means to track them down if you don’t get them over the border quickly,” Gaius says, lowering his voice.

“Do you know who they are?”

“I have a guess, but I can’t be sure,” he says, looking over at the door. “Merlin, we cannot wait any longer.”

“I’ll drive you to the station,” Lance says. “I’d come but I need to make sure Gwen is okay.”

“I know. No, I know. Stay with her. I’ll call. I have a cell phone now,” Merlin says, patting his pocket. His smile falls a little.

“Are we ready? We cannot waste any more time here,” Gaius insists.

Merlin glances back at the theater where Morgana is scolding Arthur for something. Arthur looks away from her for a moment and meets Merlin’s eye. Arthur frowns. He makes to get off the stage and go to them, but Merlin shakes his head imperceptibly. He turns his back to the stage.

“Yeah. Let’s go now.”


	12. Intermission

**Merlin**

 

The train feels a thousand times slower now, the air in the cargo car stiflingly still and warm. He sweats harder than ever as Camelot City finally disappears from view. Merlin shuts his eyes and focuses on the feeling of the papers in his hands. He tries to make them ground him, keep him focused, keep his mind from wandering off to the land of Worst Case Scenarios. He feels like he’s already there.

The train lurches around a corner and Gaius has to grab his arm to keep him from falling off his seat. He gives Merlin a reproachful look that quickly turns sympathetic.

“Does Uther know where you’ve gone?” Merlin asks, his voice hardly a whisper.

“No,” Gaius sighs. “It’s better he doesn’t find out. I can only go as far as the hospital, if my reason for coming there is to aid the staff.”

“How were things in the city before you left?”

“Not improving. I fear we’re beginning something much bigger than a riot.”

“Probably,” Merlin says miserably.

“I hoped that all our sacrifices from the Purge were enough,” he goes on, “but it seems that nothing will suffice.”

“For Uther, you mean,” Merlin says with a spark of anger. “He’s ordered Arthur to incarcerate innocent people.”

“On what basis?” Gaius asks, frowning deeply.

“Associating with suspected insurgents,” Merlin says. He looks down at the dirty floor and shakes his head. “He’s using Arthur. He’s playing him so well, and Arthur can’t even see it.”

“Perhaps he’ll see reason—”

“He won’t. He’ll get what he wants if he does this for Uther. It’s the cost of being able to make things better for everyone, he says,” he says. He exhales shakily. “Why can’t he see how he’s being manipulated?”

“Arthur has always sought to please his father, even when he’s outwardly rebelled against him,” Gaius replies. “It wouldn’t be easy for him to accept such an accusation, Merlin, no matter how obvious it may be to you.”

“You can say that again,” he mutters. Merlin sits up and slouches in his seat. He stares at the pockmarked ceiling. His stomach turns as they make another corner. “What if we’re too late?”

“You go to safety. To Mercia, most probably.”

“What about the true druids?” Merlin asks. Gaius looks at him sharply. “Their people usually have magic.”

“They protect their own,” he says coolly. “You would be an outsider.”

“I think some of them are siding with Morgana and the insurgents,” Merlin says quietly. “Morgana… she and Morgause are the Priestesses, Gaius.”

His eyes go wide.

“Are you certain?”

Merlin nods. “My friend Gwen heard them talking. They said as much.”

“Does Uther know?”

“No, nor does Arthur,” Merlin blinks. “Shit. I didn’t tell him.”

Merlin grabs at his pockets, searching for his phone. He stares at the screen for a long minute before putting it away.

“I’ll have to tell him when I get back,” Merlin decides. “Too risky to tell him over a phone that could be tapped.”

“Good.”

A knot of tension eases in his stomach Merlin knows is there because he has a legitimate reason to go back to Camelot now. The idea of leaving it forever seems to crush him. He looks out the window. The terrain changes to familiar farmland, even in the darkness.

“When you return,” Gaius says, startling him out of his thoughts, “come see me as soon as you can. I may have information of value to you and to Arthur’s investigation.”

“About who’s behind the rioting or the attack?”

“I believe they’re intricately connected. In Ealdor the rioting began before those in Camelot, and your family’s attack happened this afternoon just before the Camelot riots.”

“What are you saying?”

“It wasn’t a random revenge attack, Merlin.”

Merlin stares at Gaius.

“I don’t know for certain,” he amends hastily, “but I hope to find out while I’m in Ealdor and at the Regional hospital. I’ll return to Camelot in three days. If I don’t see you by the end of the week, I’ll send for Arthur and tell him myself.”

“Tell him anyway. Don’t wait for me.”

“I will want your thoughts on the matter once you’ve spoken to your family.”

“What could they know?”

“Very much, Merlin,” he says seriously. “Your time in Camelot must have given you many questions to ask. Now is your only chance to do so.”

“About how my mother and the Queen were close friends?” Merlin asks pointedly.

“Yes!” Gaius says. “Ask them for all the details of their departure.”

“Did you know I don’t exist in the system? Merlin Ambrose isn’t a real person.”

“I know,” Gaius says slowly. “I do.”

“Do you know why?”

He shakes his head. “Ask them, Merlin. They owe it to you. It could mean your survival now.”

Merlin nods. He feels numb. He turns over the map in his hands and goes back to studying the different routes Gaius has mapped out for them. Merlin grew up exploring the area around Ealdor, but even he can’t guess at where the government officials are likely to camp out. Gaius has a better idea, at least.

“I spent a while in the area when I was young. I advised Uther on where to place stations if the need ever arose,” Gaius explained when he gave Merlin the maps as they scrambled onto the train.

Merlin tears at the fraying edge of the page until the corner breaks off. It flutters lamely onto his right trainer and sits there, unmoved by the hot, still air of the passenger car. Merlin leans his head back and shuts his eyes. He sleeps but it’s restless and uncomfortable. He wakes with a horrid headache not helped by the glaring fluorescent lights in the compartment. Gaius gives him a small bottle of water and rubs his shoulder.

“It’ll be all right, Merlin.”

He nods, but it’s an empty gesture.

\---

Even a kilometre outside of Ealdor in the middle of the night there are at least fifty officers camped out along the main road between the train station and the town. Tents are set up covering tables overburdened with a variety of weapons. Merlin catches a glimpse of guns and materials he knows are from the DoME, going by the lettering and the symbols on the discarded boxes. The train slows to a stop at the station. His head throbs and he looks away. Officers file forward to the doors to the passenger compartments. Gaius grasps his elbow and leads him off the train down to the far end of the police line.

They show their tickets and get through quickly, though Merlin can see further down the line that some are brandishing magic-detecting wands. A few people are stopped. The shouts of a woman being separated from her family distract Merlin. He walks headlong into someone.

“Sorry—”

His voice catches. The man – Kay – grabs his shoulders and bodily moves him out of his way. He walks on without even a glance at Merlin, making instead for the disturbance.

“Merlin?” Gaius whispers.

“That officer is one of Arthur’s men,” Merlin whispers once they’re out of earshot and crossing the hayfield between the platform. Merlin can see the train to the Regional Hospital cutting through the field approaching them. “Arthur and his men are leading a raid on the insurgent nest in about an hour. What the hell is he doing out here?”

Gaius says nothing. Bewildered, Merlin follows Gaius onto the train and barely hears him going over their plan again. Merlin’s hands shake. He curls them into fists. Kay being in Ealdor sets off a giant red flag, but Merlin can’t let it distract him now.

“We can do this,” he says. “We can. This is going to be the hardest part, but we’re going to do this.”

“Merlin you must promise me to stay out of sight as much as possible at the hospital,” Gaius says, his calm demeanor suddenly urgent. “The people who attacked your family were looking for you as well.”

“I know, Gaius.”

“I worry about you, my boy,” he says. Gaius pauses. “I received permission from Uther to take on an apprentice this morning.”

“Really?” Merlin says, starting to grin hugely.

“You start next Monday morning,” Gaius replies, gathering his things as the train pulls into the station, the Regional Hospital a cluster of buildings and dim lights down the road. Gaius fixes a meaningful gaze on him, one eyebrow raised high. “Don’t be late, Merlin.”

Merlin swallows and nods.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

“Where the hell is Kay?” Arthur shouts.

The DoME is in utter chaos. There are at least four times as many people there as usual, and they’re still waiting for the last of the officers to arrive and complete their backup team. One man rushes by Arthur so quickly he nearly knocks him off his feet. Percival beside him steadies Arthur.

“Thanks.”

“This is fucking crazy,” he says quietly, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Arthur says. The different teams huddle together keeping to those they know and trust, listening to their team leaders rather than to Arthur. “I need to get the leaders together and talk to them before I address everyone.”

Percival nods and makes to walk away to start gathering them, but Arthur stops him.

“Where’s Kay? He was supposed to be here with us all night, just like the rest of the team,” he asks in a low voice.

“No one’s seen him since the riots started and you came to talk to us,” he says.

“Right. Go get them. I’ll be in my office.”

Arthur weaves through the room and ducks into his office. He breathes slowly and pinches the bridge of his nose. He digs out his mobile and calls Kay, but it goes to voicemail after two rings. His desk chair slides back into the wall when he collapses into it. Kay left no note, let alone an indication that he was going somewhere. It was all too unusual and made Arthur uneasy.

The leaders of the other teams filed into his office.

“Shut the door,” he says.

Arthur recognizes most of them between training, law school, and university. The older ones he knows from meetings with his father, but they know him as the prince, not an officer.

“Most of us have not worked together in the past. Our departments by definition work best in small teams. Tonight we make an exception. I’ve been given direct orders from the king to take down the insurgent nest. I’ll be briefing everyone once all our forces have arrived, but I wanted to make one thing clear: we will not kill tonight. We do not hurt those who are innocent, nor do we incarcerate them. We know who the most wanted are. Get them, but I am ordering you to allow those who aren’t directly involved with them to go free. Tell your teams. I will tell everyone this at the formal briefing before we leave.”

The room is dead silent. Their unease is thick in the air.

“Is that clear?”

“Sir… our orders—”

“Your orders come from me, Officer. I’ve been working this case for a very long time,” says Arthur, “and I know for a fact that there will be many people in the nest who are families or runaways looking for shelter. For the reasons we’ll be going there, we have no right to arrest them all. We get those responsible for inciting the riots. That’s all. That’s my order, and the king has ordered me to lead you. You disobey me, you disobey the king. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they say. All keep their eyes forward and focused on Arthur, but as he scans the room, many of them aren’t really looking at him. They’re somewhere else, the ones with a small twist of a smile on their lips. All their backs are stiff as they file out of the room. Arthur frowns.

He sits in his chair and looks at the clock. They have five minutes until the last group is set to arrive, and then less than an hour until they’re meant to be on the road and executing the plan. Out the door Arthur can see Kay’s empty desk. It makes him frown more deeply. He pulls up the tracker program he acquired from Security and types in Kay’s number. A gray window pops up with a pinwheel in the middle.

Estimated calculation time: _one hour_.

Arthur groans. He turns off his monitor and lets it work. The doors to the precinct open and the last group arrives bearing boxes of spare safety materials.

“Everyone gear up! At 0330 I go over the plan and we leave as soon as possible!” Arthur shouts. Everyone springs into action. Somehow this chaos is more organized, but it’s chaos nonetheless.

Arthur goes back to his office to get his gear on. He fishes his mobile out of his pocket and files through his contacts until he finds Merlin’s name. He hovers over it, only to turn off his phone and throw it in his desk drawer with a frustrated groan.

“Something wrong?” asks Leon from the doorway.

“No, Leon.”

“Nervous?”

“Not about this,” he mutters.

“What, then?” Leon steps inside and closes the door.

“Something happened with Merlin earlier—”

“Sir, you must put him out of your mind for tonight.”

“I know. You don’t need to lecture me,” he snaps. Arthur sighs. “I mean he took off in the middle of rehearsal without a damn word to anyone. One minute he was fine, then Gaius and his flatmate showed up to talk to him. I – I’m worried something’s happened.”

“To whom? Merlin?”

“Yes, or to his family,” Arthur says. “Remember that hate crime in Ealdor a couple of weeks ago? The one with the witness? You sent me the article.”

“Yes….”

“Merlin was the witness. He left for Camelot the next day.”

“Oh.” Leon’s eyes widen. “I’m sure—”

“You can’t really be sure,” Arthur says with a humorless laugh. “I could see it. He was taking off, and he knew he wasn’t coming back. It was written all over his face.”

“He might come back,” Leon says, rubbing the back of his neck, looking terribly awkward. “Maybe he’s just gone to check on his family.”

“He told me before rehearsal he was thinking of going back to Ealdor to help people with magic get out of Camelot,” says Arthur, shutting his eyes. He angles his body away. _I drove him to that._

“Something tells me you’re not giving me the whole story here,” Leon says slowly. “I won’t push it now, but we can talk about all this when tonight’s mission is over.”

Arthur nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“I’ll leave you to your preparations,” says Leon. The door closes quietly behind him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs to an empty room.

By the time Arthur has his gear on, he’s shut it all out. It’s like he’s back in his rotation in the military: let everything go, or else you’ll be too heavy for your legs to carry you across the battlefield. Everything – Merlin, Kay, his mother’s beautiful voice, which he’s finally heard because of wonderful _Merlin_ , who Arthur may never see again – goes into the drawer with his mobile phone. He locks it and leaves the key on his keyboard where he won’t forget about it or lose it. He grabs his black bag and leaves his office. Everyone’s lined up and waiting for him.

_It’s time to end this._

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

Morgana and Morgause wait until everyone has left the theater to breathe. Gwen’s dress flutters around a corner; they listen for her lock clicking somewhere far overhead. When her door shuts, Morgana relaxes.

“Uther expects me to go to the summer home,” Morgana says.

“You should go. You’ll be safer there,” Morgause says.

“I want to be here, figuring out our next move,” she says firmly.

“We can’t until we see how the riots pan out, my dear,” Morgause says more gently, pushing a strand of hair out of Morgana’s face. “We see how Uther responds. We know he’ll be going after the nest in the Darkling quarter.”

“That’s why we put them there,” she sighs.

“They volunteered, Morgana. This is the way they wanted to do their part,” says Morgause sharply. “They’ll come out of prison with very valuable information for us.”

“What if Uther does nothing beyond take the nest?” she asks. “What becomes of our great move then?”

“We make another great move with the support of the Underground’s permanent inhabitants. We will end this, no matter what it takes.”

“We don’t know they’ll help us yet. We have to speak to them.”

“We will. We’ll make a plan first so they’ll have to listen to us.”

“The dragon has tried to get us to turn back,” Morgana says with a derisive laugh. “I’ve told it we won’t give up.”

She doesn’t mention the dragon confirming Emrys’s existence. Morgause would shut her down and she wouldn’t be able to continue looking for him. Morgause’s fingers close around Morgana’s hand, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“You will make a beautiful queen, Morgana,” she says softly. She leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek. Morgana’s mind flies back to when she was young and Gwen used to joke about the very same thing to her and kiss her with a giggle. Morgana never hesitated to kiss and hug her back.

She pulls away from Morgause.

“I ought to go. The riots will be reaching us soon.”

“Of course,” she says. “Perhaps once things die down we can go down to Lothian for a few celebratory drinks.”

“The paparazzi’s certainly thirsty for something to talk about,” Morgana smirks. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Morgana slides off the stage and makes her way up the aisle to the exit. On the street she can hear the not-so-distant sounds of people fighting and small explosions being set off. Morgana looks up over her shoulder at Gwen’s door. She’d seen her boyfriend Lance leave with Merlin and Gaius earlier – she hasn’t had the chance to figure out what the fuck that was about, but it must have been important – so Gwen was surely alone in her flat, probably gripping a cup of tea like it’s her lifeline.

She walks up to the door to knock, only to let her hand fall at the last moment. Morgana backs away and down the steps. She deliberately faces away from Gwen’s windows while she calls her driver and waits for the car.

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

Gwen shuts the door behind her, the skirt of her dress fluttering in the settling air. She feels out of breath and sick with worry. She saw Merlin leave with Gaius and Lance, but the fact Lance didn’t have time to tell her what was going on shows her it’s truly serious. She twists the engagement ring on her finger.

She wants to call him. She wants to make sure they’re all going to be okay, but she knows it won’t help. Whatever it is, Gwen realizes it’s time sensitive. Why else would they have rushed Merlin out in the middle of rehearsal?

An explosion sounds in the distance. Gwen runs to the balcony. She can see smoke rising in the direction of the Darkling quarter.

“Oh no,” she exhales. Gwen lunges for her phone, damning all the logic telling her not to call Lance.

It rings before she can dial his number.

“Lance?”

“Gwen,” he sighs. “Thank god. Are you home?”

“Yes, where are you? What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there. I’m going to have to stay at yours for a while,” Lance says.

“Okay,” she says, breathless again. “It’ll be good practice.”

“Yeah,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice. “Listen.”

Something’s wrong.

“What is it?”

“There are people here. They’re not letting them on the trains.”

“What? Why?”

“They’re magic. They’re with Druid. For some reason, they’re not being let to leave Camelot, not by train at least.”

Gwen squints at the window. The Ring Road is visibly congested with cars.

“What do you want to do?” Gwen asks. “I don’t have enough room in my flat.”

“I know there are people here from your Druid group. John and Mary,” Lance says. “We can’t just leave them.”

“Lance….”

Gwen looks around. Then, an idea strikes.

“I’ll call you back in a minute.”

She hangs up and runs out the door—nearly tripping over Morgana on the steps of her apartment building.

“Morgana! What are you doing?” Gwen exclaims.

“I’m waiting. Uther’s sending us all to the summer home ‘til this blows over,” she says dully. She has a bag at her feet.

“I have a favor to ask. It’s a big one. I understand if you’ll say no but I don’t think you will, since I—”

“What is it Gwen?” she says. She starts to smile, just like she did whenever Gwen used to ramble nervously. Gwen sighs. She never does it anymore. Only Morgana can bring out that little bit of her anymore.

“There are people with magic trying to get out, but they’re barred from the trains. I want to shelter them in the theater until things calm down.”

Morgana stares at her.

“Gwen… this isn’t going to die down quickly.”

“They’re going to get hurt if they don’t leave, and we both know there are people targeting their neighborhoods,” Gwen says firmly. “Please, Morgana. The things for the play won’t be disturbed.”

“I trust you,” Morgana says softly. She looks down and around, her dark eyelashes fluttering like soot on her pale cheek. She meets Gwen’s eye and she sees steel there. “Do it. Officially, the place is closed. Once it’s safe, they need to go home or get out of the city.”

“Understood.”

“Uther will have his men patrolling anywhere he thinks there may be people with magic. Any congregation could look like an insurgent nest,” Morgana warns.

“I understand Morgana,” Gwen says. “We’ll be careful.”

Morgana hands her the keys.

A large black car rolls up to the curb. Morgana picks up her bag and looks back at Gwen. She can tell Morgana doesn’t want to go—a part of Gwen doesn’t want her to go either.

Then Gwen remembers who Morgana is: a Priestess. It’s very likely this is all part of her plan to bring down the King. These explosions, these people fleeing for their lives with nowhere to turn—it’s all on Morgana and Morgause.

“Gwen?” Morgana says. “Is everything okay?”

Gwen blinks. She looks truly concerned, halfway to reaching for Gwen. She pulls her arm back. She doesn’t see a murderer. She sees steel in Morgana’s eyes, but she also sees the same girl she used to know: a girl searching for a reason.

Only now Gwen realizes just how dangerous a quality that can be in a person like Morgana with power, privilege, and opportunity.

“Just worried,” Gwen manages to say. “Be safe, Morgana.”

She smiles and disappears within the black car. Once it’s gone, Gwen calls Lance and tells him the plan. They agree he’ll start driving people over, now that Merlin and Gaius have gone. John offers to ferry people as well, since he has his car with him.

“Gwen?” Lance says just as she’s about to hang up. “Might want to order a couple of pizzas.”

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

Merlin leans against the nurse’s station and watches Gaius down the hall talking to the physicians. He’s nodding and adding a few words here and there, but the physicians seem to have a lot to say.

“Do you need something, sir?”

Merlin starts and looks around. A nurse on the other side of the desk is looking at him expectantly.

“Oh. Er, no, just waiting to talk to one of the doctors,” he says hastily.

“Why don’t you take a seat?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he says. “Actually I’m waiting to see my family, surname Ambrose? Do you know where I can find them?”

The nurse slides her chair to the old computer and starts typing. After a minute of the computer making strange sounds, she writes a few numbers down on a note and hands it to Merlin.

“Balinor Ambrose is in the ICU. He’s still recovering from a procedure he had when he arrived here,” she explains, “so it might be best to see the rest of your family first.”

“Is he okay?”

The nurse smiles warmly.

“He’s a fighter. I helped out in the operation. He was hurt badly but I’m confident he’ll pull through,” she says. Her smile widens. “You look like him, actually. I’ll take it you’re his son?”

Merlin nods. The nurse looks around.

“I’ll take you to the rest of your family, if you’d like.”

“That’d be great,” Merlin says with a sigh of relief. The hospital is a maze to him.

“I’m Sefa, by the way,” she adds.

“Merlin,” he says, shaking her hand. She blushes prettily and moves ahead a few steps.

“Are you from Ealdor?” she asks.

“Yeah, but I’ve been in Camelot for a while,” he replies. “Otherwise I’d probably be in one of these rooms, too.”

She makes a grim face.

“I’ve heard things aren’t so great out there either,” she says.

“No,” Merlin says. He feels weary all of a sudden. They turn off a hall and go up a set of stairs. Merlin looks at his watch. It’s after five in the morning now. Arthur is surely conducting his raid of the nest, if he hasn’t finished already.

“Officers from the city are coming to help us out,” Sefa says suddenly. She stops on a step above Merlin and turns around to face him. “We know that’s not good for us, for – for people with magic.”

Merlin’s eyes widen.

“Not me,” she says hurriedly. “My father’s in the Druid Group and he’s very outspoken on the role of the Department of Magical Enforcement in our lives.”

“So they wouldn’t like him very much,” Merlin grimaces. Sefa shakes her head.

“Are they here?” she asks.

“Yeah. I saw them setting up in the fields around Ealdor when my train got in. If your father needs to get out….”

“I’ll let him know. Thank you,” Sefa says with a smile, albeit a worried one. She turns around and squares her shoulders before leading the way up the rest of the steps. She lets Merlin into the hallway before explaining where his mom and Will’s room is. Then she disappears back down the stairwell without giving Merlin the chance to thank her.

Merlin makes his way down the hall and makes the appropriate right and left turns until he gets to room 239. Their voices coming through the door are a comfort Merlin thought he wouldn’t have again.

“Will – no, sit down and stop—”

“I’m not staying in this damn place any longer, mum!”

“Climbing out the window isn’t going to work!” she says, sounding extraordinarily exasperated. Merlin hears the scraping of a window opening and takes it as his cue to interrupt.

“If he cracks his head it might start working for him,” Merlin says as he steps into the room. Will, one leg out the window, broken arm swathed in a cast pressed to his chest, falls back into the room with a loud noise.

“Merlin!” Hunith cries. “Oh, you’re here!”

Merlin rushes forward and hugs her as tightly as he can while she’s hooked up to the machines.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs. She hugs him more tightly.

“We’ve missed you, too.”

“How are you?” he asks, extricating himself from her arms. Merlin sits on the bed. Will is still struggling to get to his feet.

“I’m fine, love. We’ll all be fine.”

Her face is a painting of blue and purple, as are her arms. There’s a wide bandage on her neck, too. Merlin’s fists curl.

“What happened?”

“What, no hug for me?” Will pouts. He grabs Merlin around the middle from behind and attempts to squeeze all the air out of him.

“Will!” he gasps.

“I missed you, Merls,” he says, nuzzling Merlin’s neck while still trying to break him in half with a hug. Merlin slaps his face away until he lets go. Will backs away laughing.

“That cast hurts,” Merlin frowns.

“Good,” Will nods. Merlin glares at him and turns back to his mother, whose half-smile only makes matters worse.

“Please tell me what happened.”

“We were home cleaning up lunch,” she says, sobering. “They broke down the front door and came right at us. Your father took the worst of it. They….”

“They wanted him?” Merlin asks. “Or me? Or you?”

“They shouldn’t have wanted any of us,” says Hunith, shaking her head. “We’ve never done anything to attract anyone’s attention.”

“’Cept when Merlin told the officers about them attacking those guys who were talking about the Priestesses,” Will cuts in.

“Let it rest, Will,” Hunith says for what sounds like the hundredth time.

“You mean you don’t know for sure?” Merlin asks.

“Come off it. Of course it’s them! They were staring at the house the night before you left. I saw ‘em out the window,” Will says.

“I did, too,” Merlin realizes. “I didn’t know it was them at the time.”

“Just some creeps in black hoodies out for a stroll?” Will asks flatly. “Nah.”

“Boys,” Hunith cuts in. “They wanted all of us. It’s not Merlin’s fault.”

Merlin glances away toward the window.

“Why, though?” Will says.

“I have a guess,” Merlin replies, standing up. “We can’t do this now. We need to get out of this hospital and into the woods between here and Mercia. Gaius is going to check on dad, then he’s going discharge all of you. I’ve got everything we need here,” he pauses to pat his backpack. Will and Hunith are watching him with wide eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Your father’s not going to be able to move very far,” says Hunith shakily. “He lost a lot of blood, Merlin. You can’t expect us to be able to do this.”

“Not easily,” he says, “but we’re going to have to if we want to get to safety. Those guys who attacked you are going to catch up to us here very soon. We need to be gone by then.”

Merlin hurries to the window when he sees the flashing lights of ambulances reflect on the glass. He sees a few doctors and nurses hurry out, recognizing Sefa among them. The doors to the ambulance open and they roll out two unconscious men. Sefa staggers, then rushes forward to one of them. Her hand comes away bloody from his chest. Merlin can clearly read the word _father_ on her lips as the EMTs roll the man into the hospital. A physicians shakes her shoulder and she nods. She wipes at her face and turns her attention to the other man.

Just beyond the ER entrance, Merlin sees four men dressed in black enter through the atrium. His magic prickles like lightning charging up in a storm.

“Shit,” he breathes. He turns back to Will and his mother. “They’re already here.”

The door opens. Gaius walks in with another physician who smiles at Hunith and glares at Will. Merlin edges to Gaius and tells him what he saw.

“I’ve convinced Dr. Ahren to discharge them,” he murmurs. “Your father is doing well enough. I’ll bring him to the north entrance to meet you there. You must keep track of his injuries. He needs to check into a hospital in Mercia as soon as possible.”

Merlin nods.

“Are you ready? Once we’re out of the room, you must act as quickly as possible.”

“I am.”

Gaius signs their charts. The physician gives them some words of advice. She pauses before leaving and says sadly,

“Be careful. All of you.”

The door shuts and Merlin springs in to action.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

A wall on his left explodes, the blast throwing three officers right across Arthur’s path. He narrowly dodges a glowing grenade. He runs harder and covers his head. Arthur’s ears ring as he reaches a relatively sturdy wall and ducks behind it to catch his breath. Percival barrels past the wall; Arthur grabs his arm and hauls him back.

“Arthur!” he exclaims. “Where’s the cavalry? Have they gotten into the bunker?”

“Not yet,” he says grimly. “I went back to help a few people get out.”

That wasn’t an easy task. When he broke away from the group, dragging the child out of the arms of one of the older trigger-happy officers, they went still. Arthur put the child aside, retrieved the rest of the young family quivering in the shadows of the first floor custodial closet, and led them to the door.

“Go on,” he said. Arthur turned around and led the family out. They thanked him, and he told them to run for the forests and seek out the true druids if they could. When Arthur turned around, the entire second floor of the left wing of the factory burst into flames, glass raining down on the grass and his waiting officers.

That was the beginning of the counterattack. It became rapidly apparent that the nest was _very_ well prepared for them – and that they were in for a long night.

Arthur braces himself as another bomb detonates behind the wall. The bricks shake.

“Find the rest of our team. We’re going down into the south wing and seeing if we can find that tunnel.”

“They’re close. Wait here,” Percival says. He waits for a flare to pass them before running out from behind the wall. Arthur wipes his brow and takes a deep breath of dirty air. He peers through the darkness and sees the other teams working their way across the courtyard, firing with gusto at every person who isn’t wearing DoME gear. Arthur’s stomach roils.

“Over here!” Leon shouts. Arthur turns around just as Leon, Percival, Pellinore, and Bedivere stop behind the wall. Arthur lets them catch their breath while he loads up his gun. He takes his shield off his back and straps it to his arm.

“We’re going straight across that courtyard and into the south wing, just like when we went to get my friend that day,” Arthur says. “We go into the lower level. In the back of that room there should be a gnome door. We go through and we should find the tunnel system under the factory that’ll get us to the bunker.”

They start putting shields on and visors down.

“Get into formation.”

They form a V with Arthur at the head. He positions his gun above his shield just below his visor. Crouching low, they make their way down the steps into the courtyard. The first shots bounce off Arthur’s shield like pebbles, but the barrage intensifies and the charms in his protective gear won’t last forever. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement. Arthur starts to turn to shoot but Percival on his left taps his shoulder twice, signaling no danger. Arthur turns his head and sees another team getting into a similar formation. A little further than halfway across the courtyard another team does the same on their right. By the time they reach the end, Arthur’s muscles in his arms are ablaze and his head is pounding from the beating they took.

“Check for assailants,” he says to his team as he stands upright. The next time files through the door behind Arthur, followed by two more. They search the workroom and find it vacant. Arthur motions for everyone to follow him down the steps into the basement.

The machines are alive. Pellinore makes to turn them off, but Arthur stops them.

“They’ll know we’re down here if we do,” he says. Arthur leads them down the main aisle to the back corner. He pushes the rolled up carpets out of the way and reveals the gnome door.

He’s prepared to kick it down, but he doesn’t have to. The door opens easily and without a sound, revealing a passage only just large enough for Arthur to squeeze through.

“Looks like I’m sitting this out,” Percival says. Arthur and the rest of his team chuckles.

“Help those we send back out of the factory,” Arthur says, gripping his arm. Percival smiles and shoves him lightly at the door. Arthur drops to his knees, turns on the light on his helmet, and climbs into the darkness.

\---

He doesn’t know how much time passes between reaching the bunker and resurfacing at the road. The building is on fire and there’s too much blood on his hands. He found another team already down there handling people in the nest more like rag dolls than humans. One child with startlingly blue eyes tried to fight back one officer. Arthur was too late, the damage already done when he climbed out of the passage. All he could do was hold the boy as he bled out and his eyes flickered to dimness.

Ten others die before Arthur can get the situation in the bunker under control. When he reaches the ground level, the chaos there is under control – only it isn’t right, and certainly not according to the orders he gave. The trucks are overflowing with battered prisoners bound for Meleagant. They’re shutting the doors when Arthur reaches them.

He threatens the officers with arrest, with treason, with anything he can think of for disobeying him, _Arthur Pendragon_ , but they stay silent and straight-backed. Arthur can see the same response behind every one of their eyes but none of them say it.

“I’m going with them to Meleagant,” Arthur says, turning his back on the line of officers to face Leon instead. “Get their names. I’m going to deal with them in the morning.”

Eyeing the lightening horizon, Arthur wipes the blood on his hands on his trousers and climbs into the front seat of one of the prison trucks. He doesn’t speak to the driver, who looks like his mouth’s been sewn shut from the inside. Arthur watches the trees fade away and the greenery around him abruptly yield to desolate desert as they descend a cliff. Arthur counts to a thousand before the truck stops and he’s faced with the great black tower that is Meleagant Prison, standing like great needle out of the endless stretch of dirt and sand.

The sun is high in the sky as the prison guards jog out to lead their new prisoners inside. Arthur watches. Most of them refuse to look at anyone or anything. Some stare baldly at him, openly furious or desperate for help. One man spits at him, the glob landing in a mess of saliva and blood a foot in front of him. Arthur looks away after that.

“Officer Pendragon,” says a man with a steady, low voice. Arthur looks to his left and finds a man in a wide-brimmed black hat and dark clothing beside him. “Allow me to show you inside.”

The warden, Aredian, Arthur quickly learns, is a very serious man, and an extremely competent one. He’s never been in such a quiet or pristine prison. He hands Arthur a manila envelope when they arrive at his office.

“You’ll find that everything is in order,” he says.

“Thank you,” Arthur frowns. The envelope is addressed to his father. “I’ll make sure he gets this.”

“Would you like something to eat? Tea, perhaps?”

“No, I really must be going back. There’s a lot to be done today,” Arthur says, edging toward the door. Aredian rises from his desk to walk Arthur out.

At the door, Arthur, still a little dazed from the cotton-heavy silence of the prison, says to Aredian,

“Be kind to them. Most of these people we’ve brought in are innocent and deserve no harm.”

Aredian chuckles.

“If only that were true. No, Officer, it’s quite clear that they’re all criminals, every last one of them, and my talent is managing them and showing them the light,” he says. “My orders on how to manage them are very clear.”

“What orders?” Arthur asks.

“Right from the top,” says Aredian, tapping the manila envelope in Arthur’s hands. “Poor communication skills don’t befit a prince, Officer. Perhaps you ought to work on that with the King.”

Arthur’s head throbs. He can’t tear his eyes away from the name on the envelope. He sees it, but it doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t want it to make sense, but he _can’t_ ignore it.

He barely feels the ride back to the DoME. When he stumbles out of the truck and up the steps, his head feels ready to burst and his grip on the envelope is vice-like. Arthur pauses in the lobby to steady himself and glances at his watch for the first time in hours. It’s eight-forty-two in the morning.

Arthur pushes through the doors of the department ready to deal with the officers and take care of the victims – the _look_ on that boy’s face is burned onto Arthur’s eyelids – but he doesn’t get the chance. The room erupts in cheers and clapping. His shell-shocked ears hear a shot go off and he cringes, but it turns out to be a bottle of champagne opening. Officers from all the teams congratulate him and shake his hands. Arthur deposits the envelope on his desk. When he goes back out, the room is totally silent. Standing before the doors still swinging shut is his father with his security detail.

“Well done,” Uther says, crossing the room in a few long strides. He grips Arthur’s shoulder tightly. “I’m truly proud of you, son.”

Arthur stares at him. His mind flies back to the envelope and Aredian’s words. He’s about to suggest they go into his office to chat privately, but his father isn’t nearly finished. He turns to face the Department of Magical Enforcement.

“You’ve all done incredible, incredible work. I commend each and every one of you. But this isn’t over. The riots have gone on all night and while things have quieted down, there are barricades in the streets and whole neighborhoods blocked off by the remaining insurgents. Tonight, though, we fought back and we have the upper hand because of you. I congratulate you.”

Uther smiles and the room bursts into cheers again. He glances at Arthur as though to warn him. Arthur hasn’t the faintest idea about what until it’s far too late—

“I have a second reason for visiting the DoME this morning,” says Uther. The room quiets. “My son Arthur has worked this case from the start and carried it through to the end. The council and I are so impressed with his work that I’ve come to make him an offer.”

Arthur freezes. Uther’s gaze on him sharpens and Arthur straightens up.

“We offer you the position of Commissioner of the Department of Magical Enforcement, for your contributions, your history in our armed services, the skill exhibited in the court of law and in this Department, as well as for the strength of your character, valor, and loyalty to the crown and to Camelot.”

“I accept,” Arthur breathes. Uther stares harder. He clears his throat and says loudly, “I accept your offer with honor and humility, sire.”

Again the room cheers. Arthur feels a little out of breath after those few heavy words. He blinks at the room and it hits him fast and hard – _he’s done it._

“There’ll be a public ceremony on Friday evening. It’ll be televised and there’ll be a formal ball following it to which the entire Department is invited,” says Uther. The cheers get even louder. Arthur can hear voices cracking with exhaustion. “Congratulations, Arthur. You’ve earned it.”

“Thank you, father,” he says. Uther grips his shoulder again before taking off down the room and back out the door. Someone shoves a champagne glass in his hands.

Hastily Arthur retreats to his office. The manila envelope has vanished from his desk. Arthur turns on his monitor and sees that the Tracker program he left to find Kay is gone. He pulls it up, but there aren’t any completed searches in the recent history. Arthur sets the champagne glass aside and leans back in his chair, staring up at the fluorescent lighting. He hopes it’ll burn the boy’s eyes out of his memory, but all it does is blind him to anything but that.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

The night air is heavy and humid, even in the cool forest clearing where they’re hiding out. Merlin tends to his father’s wounds while Hunith and Will sit by the slim fire. Balinor shuts his eyes and rests his head on the log behind his head. Merlin brushes his sweat-soaked hair off his forehead and presses a kiss there. Balinor smiles weakly, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Merlin brushes off his jeans and joins Hunith and Will by the fire.

“Will, go get some more firewood,” says Merlin. Will glares at him, but he always seems to understand. He gets up grumbling and mumbling to himself but without any real complaint. Merlin waits until he’s out of earshot to say, “I have questions.”

“I expect you do,” she says, looking at the fire. “I knew you would the moment you mentioned in your letters that you’d befriended the Pendragons.”

“You knew Ygraine Pendragon.”

“She was Ygraine DeBois for most of the time I knew her. She was like a sister to me,” Hunith says. Merlin waits. “We met at school when we were still learning to sing. We didn’t become good friends until we found ourselves in the same productions, often cast together as friends or siblings or something. Uther once said our voices went together like milk and honey.”

“And dad? What did he say?”

“Your father and I were only friends until just before we left Camelot. He kept his distance because of Uther,” she says, lowering her gaze again. “He was a much better man then, Merlin. Losing Ygraine destroyed everything good in him. Before the Purge, he was still a strong king, but he smiled beautifully and knew when to laugh. He came to every performance Ygraine gave while he courted her, even before! He never struck me as a romantic, but there he was, every night, bearing a bouquet for her, looking at her like she’d lit every star in the sky.”

“Love is weird,” Merlin mutters.

“It is,” she says, sounding sad and understanding. Merlin fixes his eyes on his trainers. “They married. I was happy for Ygraine. Your father refused to attend their wedding, so I talked with Gaius for most of the reception. Everything was fine for the next year and a half, until Gaius mentioned he’d uncovered why Ygraine hadn’t gotten pregnant yet. The only way around it was magic, and Uther planned to go to Nimueh, who was the Gatekeeper to the Underground and one of his oldest friends.”

“Gaius mentioned her,” Merlin says slowly. “He said Uther sealed her up down there.”

“She warned them,” Hunith says wearily. “She told them magic demands a price. A life for a life. When it took Ygraine, leaving Uther with a wailing babe, he was gone. He lost his mind. Nimueh fled and took cover in the Underground. No one could get to her without magical help, and no one would dare turn Nimueh over to the King.”

“Was she really so terrifying?” Merlin asks, bemused.

“She was the High Priestess of Camelot and the Court Sorcerer, Merlin. No one in the magical community wanted to cross her.”

“So… when no one cooperated, Uther declared war on people with magic.”

“He did everything in his power to root out all people with magic in Camelot. He hunted down the dragonlords until there was only one left,” Hunith pauses. “Uther is ruthless and cunning. He stopped at nothing until he got what he wanted.”

“Which was?”

“Nimueh, left to die in the Underground, along with the Great Dragon,” she says. “By then, the Purge was in full swing. A year had passed. I took care of Arthur as best I could, but I couldn’t be his mother. It wasn’t safe for Balinor and me to remain in Camelot; I had to leave. I loved him like a son of my own by then. There was such a need in that baby for something Uther couldn’t offer him. I thought of him so often until it made no sense to think of him any longer.”

Merlin moves closer to his mother and pulls her close. She quickly wipes her face.

“He’s all right, mum,” Merlin says.

“I hope so.”

“He is. He’s a prat, but… he turned out okay.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve talked about this,” she says, shaking her head.

“What happened when you left?” Merlin asks. He catches a glimpse of Will walking in circles around a tree a ways away from the clearing. Merlin suppresses a snort.

“Uther showed his cruelty,” she says coolly. “It’s your father’s story to tell.”

“He might not be able to,” Merlin says.

“He will,” she says firmly.

“Mum. I’ll have to go back. I need to know why Merlin Ambrose apparently _doesn’t exist_.”

“Because we wanted to protect you!” she says, her voice strained and thin. “We ran from Uther’s men for years. When we settled in Ealdor, it was still in under Lot’s control, but the borders rearranged after a year or so and we were in Camelot again. We took a risk, staying, but you were so, so young.”

She takes a steadying breath.

“Your father is a dragonlord. He’s the last of his kind. He… was told by Uther to call down the Great Dragon and persuade it into the Underground where Uther was supposed to parlay with it. Instead, Uther’s men were ready to seal the Underground. Balinor barely made it out alive. He came to me, explained Uther’s trickery, and we took off. That’s why we left.”

Merlin tries to find words to respond but nothing seems right. He glares at the fire, which sparks higher than is safe.

“Another reason to hate Uther Pendragon,” Merlin says softly.

“He showed his true colors that day,” Hunith says.

“So where does our name actually come in?”

“Ambrose? We picked it up from the druids, actually,” she says. “We stayed with them for a short while when we were on the run. We… we actually married under their laws, and they gave us this name. They originally gave us a name in the language of the old religion, but after a few translations we settled on Ambrose. When you were born, we saw no reason to change it.”

“Did you never register me then?”

“A druid friend of ours happened to be visiting when you were born. She helped with the birth. Doing it out of hospital seemed like the safer option, with the Purge still happening. It’s nothing close to your father’s actual last name,” she adds with a laugh.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Bucanagh.”

It sounds like a sneeze. Merlin laughs loudly. Balinor snores loudly and rolls over. He laughs a little harder. Will marches into camp and kneels beside Merlin. He’s pale and his hand is tense as it grips Merlin’s arm.

“Merls. There are officers coming just over the ridge. We need to get outta here.”

He rushes to his feet and puts out the fire as he gathers all their things.

“Mum – help dad up,” Merlin hisses.

Will dodges out of the campsite and makes for the woods. Merlin catches his eye and he waves. All clear. He looks back – his parents are hobbling quickly after Will. Someone shouts in the distance and Merlin bolts out of the clearing.

They only manage to go for ten minutes before they need to stop. Balinor is out of breath, even though he insists he’s okay. He slaps Merlin’s hands out of the way when he reaches for his bandages.

“I’m _fine_ , Merlin,” he growls.

Merlin scowls at him and whips out the map. It’s too dark to see. Merlin’s ears perk up to the sound of people barreling through undergrowth in the distance and he drops the bloody map.

“Merlin—”

“Shut it, Will!”

“We really have to go. It’s definitely that way,” he says, pulling on Merlin’s sleeve.

“I need the fucking map so we don’t walk into a government camp!”

“Can’t you just magic up a light?” Will asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet nervously. Merlin lets out a distressed sound and looks at the pitch-black ground. He searches for his magic, tries to force it into something like a light, but there’s silence in his head. He feels nothing, no control, nothing even _to_ control.

“I can’t,” Merlin says, frustrated. “It’s not working.”

“You said your magic was getting better!”

“Worse! The incidents were getting worse!”

“But you said when you were doing your theater thing you felt like you could control it,” Will snaps. “Do that.”

“You want me to burst into song while we’re being chased?” Merlin exclaims.

“Boys!” Balinor interrupts. Merlin turns too quickly toward his father and his neck cracks. He rubs at the pain. “Focus on something that grounds you. If it’s a song, do it, just do it quietly. When you’ve got it, look out toward where we’re going and… find the path.”

“Find the path?”

Balinor nods, taking a few shallow breaths.

“Trust yourself, Merlin. Magic is magic, and you… they told us you were special,” Balinor says softly. “You can do this.”

“Walk while you sort yourself out,” Will says. He takes Hunith’s hand and starts leading her toward the border, leaving Merlin to help Balinor.

They hobble forward. Merlin searches for something, but all he can remember is Arthur and the way he’d felt on stage with him singing _Defying Gravity_. He’d never felt so whole. He hums the tune too softly to connect the notes at first, then with more conviction. The magic in him wobbles, like his shaking legs as he trips over a log and almost lands in the mud, then gains momentum far too quickly. Merlin gasps and squeezes his eyes, his head starting to spin. His father squeezes his arm.

“Reel it in. It’s okay.”

Merlin nods.

“Breathe, Merlin.”

He does. He opens his eyes slowly. The darkness doesn’t seem so thick. The forest isn’t an impenetrable black cloak over their shoulders – it’s _alive_. Merlin can suddenly feel every creature, every insect and animal and plant – he can feel it all thrumming with life. With _magic._ He feels like he’s vibrating with it, too. Merlin sucks in a breath of air and it tastes sweet. It fills him up in a way that almost lifts him clear off the ground.

Balinor’s grip on his arm tightens.

“Find the path. Look into the forest. Let it guide you.”

Merlin turns his gaze from the woods to Hunith and Will stumbling on ahead of him. His vision shifts and he’s abruptly rushing past them to a boulder. He pauses, then pushes northwest until he gets to the edge of the trees. Down to the right he sees the government encampment but to the left is the sign designating the border with Mercia. Further down the treeline is what Merlin knows must be the bus station where they’re to present their papers and enter the country.

Merlin reels the magic back in and he’s back by his father, gasping for air, leaning too heavily on Balinor’s injured side.

“Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Did you see?” he asks. “What did you see?”

“I know where to go,” Merlin says breathlessly. Balinor grins hugely through all his pain and exhaustion. “Come on.”

They hurry to catch up to Will and Hunith. When they reach the boulder, they have to stop again. Balinor leans heavily against the rock, scratching mindlessly at the bandages on his chest through his shirt. Merlin can see the blood seeping through the dark material. He makes himself look away.

“Head that way,” Merlin says, pointing, “and turn left when you get to the treeline. Go until you’re over the border. It’s not much further.”

“We’re not leaving you back here,” Will frowns.

“I’m taking dad over. He has to go more slowly.”

Hunith stands and walks to Balinor. Merlin and Will turn their backs to them and do their best not to listen.

“You’re going back to Camelot,” Will says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“This is your chance to get out of it all, Merls. It’s now or never.”

“I … I don’t want out,” he says, sounding defeated, but feeling like he’s finally figured out what’s been so off-kilter in his head all these hours. “I have to go back. I need to find Arthur and tell him – er, something really important that I can’t tell you.”

Will glares at him and shoves his shoulder roughly.

“Seems you’ve found a new best friend,” he says.

“Shut it, William.”

“Truth, then.”

“He’s a really good guy,” Merlin acquiesces, “but he wouldn’t last a day without me there to help him.”

“He’s making the worst decisions of his life right now.”

“Probably.”

“I’m coming with you, then,” Will announces.

“Will, no. You have to get out of Camelot and make sure mum and dad are—”

“I think they’ll get on okay without me,” Will sighs. He turns and places a strong hand on Merlin’s thigh. “You’re not getting rid of me, Merlin. Where you go, I go. ‘Sides, we always said we were gonna run off to Camelot together, didn’t we?”

“I think we also said we were going to open up a gay men’s sauna and spa when we got there,” Merlin snorts.

“An excuse to be naked is an excuse to be naked,” Will shrugs. He glances at Merlin. “I’m not ruling it out yet. Any of it.”

“Will—”

“That’s not the point, Merlin,” he says, shaking his head. “Nah. No, I wanna help you freaks get some fucking justice. I’ve been hanging around with the Druid Group in Ealdor for ages. They even got me a badge. I’ll see if I can get in with a group in Camelot and I’ll pitch in there.”

“Will,” Merlin repeats helplessly.

Hunith’s hand rests on Merlin’s shoulder.

“We need to go. They’ll be catching up soon,” she says quietly. Merlin throws his arms around her waist and pulls her close. “I’ll miss you, my boy. So much.”

“Me, too, mum. I wish I could stay.”

“Don’t worry about us. You’ve done everything you can. Besides, it sounds like someone in Camelot needs you a bit more than we do,” she says with a tentative smile. Merlin ducks his head. “Send Arthur my love.”

“I will, mum,” he promises. She takes Will’s hand. “See you on the other side.”

Merlin turns back to his father. They wait, leaning side-by-side against the boulder until Hunith and Will are out of sight. After a while, Merlin uses his magic again with miraculous success to seek them out.

“They’re at the station,” he exhales.

“Thank the gods,” Balinor murmurs. He scrubs his pale face. “Our turn.”

Merlin pulls him off the boulder just as four government officers burst through the trees with a glaringly loud magic detector in hand.

“Don’t move,” one of them says.

It’s too dark for Merlin to see. His magic is still charged up and at the ready, but he’s lost all control in the fright of the moment. He’s a ticking bomb again, pressurized and ready to go. Balinor steadies him with a hand on his shoulder and stands upright.

“Let us go,” he says.

“Not happening,” the man says. Balinor’s eyes flash. The man flies back and hits a tree with a very loud crack that makes Merlin wince.

It happens too quickly. The man hits the ground just as the remaining three rush forward. One tries to rip Merlin away from Balinor. Merlin struggles and manages to land a knee to the groin. It earns him a fist across his face, sending him staggering back into the boulder. He wipes blood off his cheek and lips, glaring at the shadow of a man.

His magic misfires. The man flies back, but nowhere near as hard as when Balinor threw him. He catches himself.

“Fucking abominations—,” he fumes. His gun clicks and fires, and before Merlin has the chance to register what’s happening, he’s being crushed by his father’s weight. He’s bleeding from the gunshot wound to the chest, which hit just above where the stab wound bandages ended. The blood is gushing out between his fingers. Merlin looks up. The three men are closing in.

His magic explodes with his scream. All three are thrown back, their necks snapping before they hit the ground. Merlin watches them fly and settle in the dirt like rag dolls.

Balinor starts to stir. Desperate to staunch the bleeding Merlin tears off a strip of his shirt and bunches it up against the wound.

“Come on, dad. We need to go. Mum’s waiting,” he whispers. “Please. It’s safe. I used my magic and we’re safe now.”

He feels heavier in Merlin’s arms.

“Please.”

Balinor opens his eyes.

“My son,” he says with a dim smile.

“Dad, let’s go. We’re going over the border before someone comes.”

Merlin grabs his arm and tries to force him upright, but the blood presses out too strongly. Merlin lets him sit upright against the boulder. He stares hard at the edge of the forest, as though it’ll tell Will to get his arse over here and help him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t teach you more,” Balinor murmurs.

“You taught me everything,” he says, shaking his head.

“Find Kilgarrah. When you return to Camelot, tell him I sent you. Tell him you are the son of the last dragonlord.”

“Who is he? Will he help?”

“If he’s in a helpful mood,” he says with a hoarse chuckle. “He’s a prickly fellow.”

“Like you without your tea,” Merlin teases.

“Merlin,” Balinor begins. His voice catches as the cloth over the gunshot slips and some blood rushes between Merlin’s fingers. His eyes widen then dim very quickly.

Merlin chokes out a sob. He shakes his shoulder roughly, but to no avail.

“Please, dad. We’re safe. We’re finally safe.”

His lips turn up in a tired, tiny smile before his head slides to the side, his cheek resting on the cool stone of the boulder. He feels heavier leaning on Merlin’s shoulder than Merlin could have ever imagined. Merlin can’t hold him. He looks at his bloodied hands and hates them for not being stronger.

The magic buzzing finally fades. He feels cut off. He feels no life around him, only blackness closing in on him like a hand around his throat. Merlin shuts his eyes and squeezes his father’s cool hand, hanging on until Will has to pry him away with the dawn peering over the boulder.

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

“Lance?” Gwen calls. She’s standing by the window, peering out between the curtains. No response. “Lance!”

She turns away and listens—the shower is running.

Gwen looks back to the window, but she keeps her distance this time. That morning Morgana called and asked that the refugees leave the theater.

“Uther’s having us all return today. I need to come back and start closing things down,” Morgana said.

“Closing? Why?”

“Keeping this going in the midst of all this would be insensitive,” Morgana said.

“It’s been fun,” Gwen said quietly.

“I’m glad we got to reconnect, Gwen. I mean it.”

After a moment, Gwen replied, “Me too,” and she meant it.

Now, though, the theater is empty, and there are two black cars parked on the curb across the street. Gwen didn’t think of it until two men got out of the car. They’ve been staring at her building for the better part of an hour now.

An engine revs up outside. Gwen rushes to the window again and pulls the curtain aside. The cars are pulling away: she watches them drive away and waits for the knot in her stomach to give out, but it doesn’t.

Her doorbell rings and there’s a loud _thud_ against the door itself.

Gwen’s heart skips a beat. She rushes to the kitchen and picks up a large knife before going to the door. She looks through the peephole and sees no one—in fact, she sees nothing. Gwen wrenches the door open, knife shaking in her hand, heart racing at a painful speed.

She finds a receipt and a few other papers stuck to her door, held in place by an old but ornate dagger. The blade is still sharp: the owner has clearly taken care of it over the years. Gwen pries out of the door and takes the receipt inside, locking every lock behind her. She sits on the flood and reads the paper. It almost falls out of her hands.

The receipt is from her own shop but it’s dated to just after she was born, signed by her father. It’s for the sale of a ceremonial dagger, commissioned by the buyer. Gwen reads the commission slip and knows it’s the knife in her hand. There’s no mistaking her father’s style in the design of the hilt either.

He added a note on the receipt.

 

_Good luck with everything. Use this well—we’re counting on it!_

 

Gwen stares. She looks over the commission again and the receipt but the signature of the customer is incomprehensible.

Then she sees the papers that had fallen out of her hands: two newspaper clippings. One is dated to a few months after the dagger’s sale announcing the execution of John Collins, a sorcerer and suspected sympathizer of the Blood Guard. The other—the other isn’t a clipping after all. It’s a handwritten note printed on newspaper.

 

_We see you, and we thank you. We will be counting on you again soon._

 

There is no signature, just a stamp of a symbol. The triskelion on a shield stares up at her like a three-eyed monster, hungry and grasping for her. Gwen drops the dagger at the sight of it. It hits her kitchen knife and makes an ugly sound that pushes her over the edge. A horrified sob escapes her throat and catches her unaware. Gwen shuts her eyes and lets her head hit the wall, glad for the distant sound of the shower preventing her from totally drowning in her fearful thoughts.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

She walks right past Morgause brandishing four newspapers and going on about the riots. It’s all she’s been talking about but there’s a new urgent ring to it that makes Morgana pause, even though she’s very much on a mission.

“What is it?” she snaps.

“Ealdor, Morgana. Their riots started three days before what we started here,” Morgause says slowly. She hands Morgana the newspaper from last week. “Ours was supposed to be the catalyst. Nothing was supposed to be happening until we made our great move.”

“Apparently not,” she says, skimming the first few paragraphs. “Things were tense for a while, it seems.”

“They walked into a Druid meeting and torched the place. That’s more than tense. That’s premeditated and well-planned.”

“What are you saying?” Morgana says, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t know yet, but this isn’t a good sign for us. We need to re-evaluate our plan,” Morgause states, jabbing a finger on the title of the paper repeatedly. Morgana tosses it aside. “Where are you going?”

“Into the Underground.”

“Not yet! We haven’t—”

“Damn the plans! I’m tired of waiting and we’re running out of time,” she shouts. Morgana throws the trapdoor open and climbs down, not bothering to wait for Morgause. She stalks up to the portal and starts climbing over the rubble. She feels short of breath with the panic lurking in the back of her throat. She rounds on Morgause, hovering a few feet back with an orb of light, and keeps on shouting. “Uther’s appointed Arthur head of the DoME. He’s mobilizing the military against our people on the streets. He’s had them in the wings for months! Uther knew, Morgause. He knew _something_ , and we missed it! We can’t make a mistake like that again.”

“Wait, Morgana. Don’t do this yet. We need to regroup.”

“No. What we need is help, and we need it _now._ ”

She bounds across the threshold and into the icy air of the Underground. Down a slick slope and around a corner just before it opens up into a great frozen cavern Morgana finds a room. She blasts the heavy wooden door open with her magic. When the dust settles, she’s out of breath not from her spell but from the decades of pent up magic rushing around her.

Morgana smiles at the woman before her, her eyes as bright blue and her lips as red as if she never left the court of Camelot. Only her tattered red dress and her bare feet, cut up and brown with dirt, tell of her difficulties. Vines and roots pour out through the cracks in the rock ceiling and walls, twining around her limbs, supporting her and creating an earthen throne. They shift like snakes as the woman – Nimueh – rises to her feet.

“Morgana Pendragon,” she drawls in a clear, full voice. The sound makes Morgana shiver. “I’ve been expecting you.”


	13. Thank Goodness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Thank Goodness](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xSRCSXlaxM)

**Arthur**

 

It’s not good news that reaches Arthur when he picks up the paper on Friday morning. The headlines report on the ongoing riots. The second headlines on the bottom half of the page jolt Arthur:

_FOUR OFFICERS SLAIN NEAR MERCIAN BORDER_

Arthur gets as far as _extremely dangerous and strong magic_ before putting the paper down. He calls Leon, but the phones at the DoME are busy. Arthur starts dressing to go in personally but his PA, George, knocks on his door and hands him his itinerary for the day, which includes the official promotion ceremony and the gala that follows.

“Do I have any free time today?” Arthur moans.

“No,” he says curtly. “Shall I set out your clothes for the Arms Presentation by the Royal Guard and the Camelot Reserves?”

“The uniform, George.”

“Yes, sire.”

George disappears into his closet next door. Arthur leaps across the room and grabs his phone. The phone’s ringing before he can think about what he’s doing.

“Princess,” Gwaine says groggily. “It’s too damn early.”

“Have you heard from Merlin?”

“Merlin?” Gwaine says. He pauses. “No. Not a peep. I’m guessing you haven’t either.”

“No. I tried his phone a couple of times,” Arthur says. He’s been calling every six hours precisely, except when he’s sleeping, which hasn’t been all that often, lately.

“Shit. I was gonna call you today about Merlin,” he says. Arthur waits for Gwaine to make strange sounds, probably while stretching. Hopefully. “Where’s he gone?”

“Not sure.”

“ _Sure_.”

“I have a guess,” Arthur says, glancing back at the newspaper on his desk. “Merlin’s not the only reason I called.”

“I figured. What’s the favor?”

“I need you to attend the gala with me tonight.”

Gwaine pauses.

“I’m only saying yes because you’re tearing your hair out pining after Merlin,” Gwaine eventually says.

“Hah, _no_. Definitely not.”

“You’re a shit liar, Arthur.”

“You can’t even—”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Fine. Look, I just need you to pretend to look interested while we’re at the gala just for an hour or two and then we can get out of there.”

“Yeah? Got something special planned? Picnic by a lake, perhaps? A bottle of champagne?”

“Fuck off. Speaking of Elena, you ought to give her a call,” Arthur adds. Gwaine sputters, silenced for once, and Arthur calls it a victory. “Be at the palace at nine.”

He hangs ups, cutting Gwaine off cleanly. The door opens and George brings in his ceremonial military uniform. He places it gently on the bed, like it’s a bomb that’s going to go off rather than a jacket and trousers. Arthur sighs witheringly.

“You can go now, George.”

“Sire,” he says with a bow. Arthur resists rolling his eyes until George is gone.

He glances at his schedule as he dresses and throws himself on the bed with the jacket half-buttoned. Arthur picks up his phone again and files down the contact list. He calls Merlin, despairing acceptance far outweighing desperate hope at this point. It goes to voicemail after five rings, just like every other time Arthur’s called. He sighs and sits up, looking between the schedule and his mobile.

He finishes dressing before the mirror, straightening each of his badges and decorative ties. The uniform is all sleek lines against dark blue, the Pendragon crest bright and strong on the scarlet patch on Arthur’s chest. Tucking his mobile inside his jacket, Arthur marches out of the room with his back straight enough to put the walls to shame, telling himself yet again that it’ll all be _just fine_. Arthur plasters on his well-trained publicity smile as he leaves the palace and gets into the black car waiting to take him away.

\---

Arthur’s glad for the three times he practiced the ceremony before it actually happens. He’s exhausted, finding it damn near impossible to stay focused. He feels hot under his collar, the sweat trailing down the back of his neck probably very visible on the camera hovering at his shoulder.

He swears in using well-rehearsed words and forces himself to meet Uther’s eyes. The crowd in the plaza erupts in cheers when it’s over. He and Uther stand on the balcony in the waning light of dusk waving and smiling and making conversation for the cameras.

“I’m proud of you, son,” Uther says. It makes Arthur feel sick to his stomach.

“Thank you, father,” he replies.

“I think they’ve had enough, don’t you? Come. Let’s change for the gala. Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” he lies.

“Good. The menu I selected for tonight is going to be quite a treat, I assure you.”

“Very well. I’ll see you in the hall.”

Arthur walks to his rooms as quickly as possible without looking preoccupied. He strips off his jacket and leaves it in a heap on the floor in favor of going straight for the water pitcher. He drains it to half in three huge gulps. The skin on his head cools a little. He breathes a little better, but the rest of him still feels like it’s surrounded by fire.

He shuts his eyes. Scenes of walls exploding and shots being fired at wailing innocents flash in his mind. With a shaking hand Arthur places the pitcher back on the table.

He changes slowly into fresh clothes for the gala – a suit tailored to perfection, complete with a Pendragon-red tie. He buttons the jacket and already fights the urge to rip it off and roll up his sleeves.

The door swings open.

“I’m coming, George,” Arthur says, searching for his comb.

“You look like shit, Princess,” Gwaine remarks. Arthur looks up and groans.

“Why did I think this would be a good idea?”

“Because you have no friends.”

“Apparently,” he sighs, resolutely _not_ thinking of ever-silent Merlin. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Will Morgana be there tonight?”

“Of course. She thrives on these sorts of occasions.”

“So she’ll have one of those dresses that show off her tits, right?”

“Knowing her….”

Gwaine smiles, though it looks a little tired to Arthur, and offers him his arm. Arthur rolls his eyes and accepts. They have a show to put on, and Arthur isn’t one to fail when given a challenge.

Uther, naturally, isn’t happy to see Gwaine, but he commends him on his success with Lothian. Gwaine is remarkably well-behaved, Arthur notes. It makes him suspicious.

The gala – consisting of a very long table with all the most important people in Camelot’s government eating the best food the monarchy can buy, followed by socializing and drinking in the oldest and most opulent rooms of the palace – turns out to be not a disaster but an absolute _bore_. Playing the happy prince, he finds, is about twelve times more difficult than it was the last time he attended such a function. He drinks three glasses of champagne before he’s able to laugh easily, even if he’s forcing himself to find humor in their jokes.

“Arthur! Congratulations, mate!” exclaims Kay. He and the rest of Arthur’s team from the DoME shake his hand and clap his shoulder by turn. “Ditching us for cooler friends now?”

“Come off it, Kay. We all know Commissioner’s always been Arthur’s dream job,” Percival says. He turns away to grab a champagne flute off a passing waiter’s tray. “How’s it feel?”

“Good. I’m happy,” Arthur says, smiling widely. They congratulate him and tell them how glad they are for him, but Arthur’s smile starts to hurt his face. Leon lingers while the others wander away.

“We’ve all had a tough time of it since the raid,” Leon says quietly.

“That obvious, is it?”

“You look just as tired as we feel,” he replies. “I figure we’ll eventually go out for drinks and talk about it. Want me to call when we do?”

Arthur shakes his head.

“I’m fine. The way things look I’m not going to have time for anything like that,” Arthur says. In reality, his father made it very clear that his days of fieldwork are over and that going out with the common officers is going to give mixed signals to the public.

It was another knife to Arthur’s gut, and Leon’s look of disappointment twists the knife.

“We’ll still come see the show.”

“Doesn’t look like we’ve still got one,” Arthur says sadly. “I had fun but… the time doesn’t seem right for it anymore.”

“The time doesn’t seem right for _this_ either, but here we are,” Leon says, gesturing at the richness of the room and the crowd. “The show would give people a positive message, or at least something fun to do for a night.”

“I agree, but it’s not up to me.”

“Speaking of Morgana, it looks like she’s got your date in the corner,” Leon says, nodding toward the table with the chocolate fountain. Unsurprisingly, Morgana is speaking to Gwaine. He can’t see her face, but Gwaine’s isn’t particularly happy.

“I’ll go save him,” Arthur sighs.

“’Atta boy.”

Arthur makes his way across the room, working between women in lavish dresses and glittering jewels, men in dark suits and pristine uniforms. The marble floor glitters as it opens up before the dessert table, which is gilded with large golden curls and waves. Arthur pops a chocolate in his mouth before heading toward Morgana and Gwaine.

“Arthur! Just the man I wanted to see,” Gwaine says, his smile widening a fraction. His eyes flash _danger!_ Arthur throws an arm around Gwaine’s waist when he catches a few people watching.

“Harassing Gwaine, are you?” Arthur asks, turning to Morgana.

“No more than usual,” she says coolly. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Massively,” Arthur replies. “No doubt you’re having fun, strutting about like a bloody peacock.”

Her dress _is_ composed of peacock feathers, so Morgana laughs brightly. Her eyes flash _danger_ , too, though.

“Don’t let the promotion turn you into an arse, Arthur,” she says sarcastically. “It’d be a tragedy.”

“Aren’t you going to congratulate him, Morgana?” Gwaine cuts in. She turns back toward them.

“No. Not now.”

She walks away, drawing the eyes of everyone around them.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Arthur mutters.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

\---

Arthur wakes the next morning feeling more hungover than he has since his first year at university, and that one time was entirely Morgana’s fault for adding half a bottle of rum to an already potent punch bowl. He finds the curtains pulled shut (George is a saint, really) and water and meds on his nightstand. He also finds an impressive collection of mostly empty bottles on the floor by his bed, along with his mobile. His whole body throbs when he reaches for the phone and his fingers graze the plastic. He almost falls off with the covers and all by the time he reaches it.

Once the nausea temporarily subsides, he sees there are five messages from Gwaine.

_Sry, princess, had to run. thank me for tucking u in later_

That one was at three-forty-two in the morning. The following four came five minutes later and read,

_u talk about merlin WAY TOO MUCH when ur drunk_

_I get u love his everything but that got tmi even for me mate_

_don’t ever woo him with ur poetry_

_ever_

Arthur drops his phone back on the floor and groans. He buries himself under pillows and covers until he can’t breathe. Serves him right.

“Sir.”

“Go away, George.”

“I’ve brought your breakfast,” he says. Arthur hears the door open. “Your father is already waiting in the car, sire.”

“What for?” he mumbles.

“Meeting at the Mercian embassy over the slayings on their border,” George replies. “As Commissioner and the Prince, it is your responsibility to handle the discussion.”

“Why is my father coming, then?”

“I cannot say, sir.”

“George. You’re more observant than anyone I know,” Arthur says, extracting his head from the pillows. George is puttering about the room, cleaning up the mess of bottles he and Gwaine left behind. “What does he want?”

“I am sorry.”

Arthur looks up. George won’t meet his eye. It’s not something he hasn’t seen before lately.

“Orders to keep quiet, I presume?”

“Sire.”

“You’re dismissed, George. Let my father know I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

He waits until George leaves to take the pills for his hangover and retrieve his phone from the floor. He sends to Gwaine,

_i don’t want to know_

Arthur resists calling Merlin until he’s dressed and halfway through his toast. He calls. The phone rings four times and clicks. Arthur rips the toast from his mouth.

“Merlin?”

He hears rustling, but no talking. He strains and catches footfalls and heavy breathing, and possibly branches or twigs breaking, but nothing intelligible. Arthur holds his breath as the sounds quiet down on the other end of the line. Something scrapes against the screen, something hard and uneven. There’s a gasp, then shouting in the distance.

“Merlin?” Arthur says suddenly.

“Go! Run!” someone hisses on the other end. Arthur can barely make it out over the rapid movement around the speaker muffling everything. It definitely isn’t Merlin’s voice, but whoever they are gets Merlin moving. He sputters and very obviously trips. He must hit something hard like a rock – Arthur hears the phone’s screen _crunch_ just before the line goes dead.

He holds it to his ear until he gets the generic tone that the connection’s been cut.

“Arthur! What the hell is taking you so long?”

Uther barges into Arthur’s room. He takes a step back from the door as it swings open. Arthur quickly stows his phone in his jacket pocket.

“Nothing. I needed an extra minute to get my bearings.”

“We don’t have an extra minute. Get downstairs _now_.”

Uther storms away. Arthur’s heart still hammers as he follows, the phone call replaying in his mind like a recording, his imagination already filling in the gaps and imagining Merlin bound and gagged being beaten to a pulp or thrown in a cell at Meleagant. He shudders at the thought of Merlin anywhere near the warden Aredian.

His phone buzzes. He hopes in vain – but it’s only Gwaine.

_you will_

Arthur rolls his eyes and tucks the phone away. Cryptic isn’t Gwaine’s usual style, but Arthur hasn’t got the time to think about why he’s being vague now of all times. Cameras flash as he follows his father out of the palace into the armored car. He finds his schedule in his pocket that lists his obligations for the next week and makes a mental note to give George a day off. Arthur makes sure his father isn’t watching as he starts texting and making plans for his precious few free hours as they cut through the heavily guarded “safe routes” out of the Citadel.

Just as Merlin predicted, the game is very much still on, even after he’s gotten what he was playing for in the first place.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

Morgana’s glad to be back in the palace. Spending even a few days with Uther in their summer home wasn’t a pleasant experience. She wanted more than anything to be back at the theater, convincing Nimueh to work with them, or at least in her own damn bed. Morgause barely spoke to her, as Uther surely would have asked if he saw her constantly talking to someone when they were supposed to be as cut off from the outside world as possible.

She felt, frankly, terribly alone.

Morgana picks up her old stuffed animal – a dog she named Fellow that Arthur had given her for her ninth birthday. He’s tattered and worn on the edges, and at her age she should probably put it away in a box or at least get it fixed up, but Morgana can’t bring herself to do it. It reminds her of happier times.

She hugs Fellow to her chest. The fighting wears on beyond the walls of the palace, the sounds filtering in through the open windows, fluttering past her thin white curtains as they waft in the breeze.

They’re so close. She can feel it.

But the word _Emrys_ makes her shudder, and she can’t put it out of her mind. Mordred’s been out of touch since the raid the previous weekend. She hopes he’s all right with the rest that got away, but Morgana hasn’t got any way of knowing unless he contacts her. Without him, she can’t know how Emrys fares, and if she doesn’t know that, she can’t be sure she can win the war she’s waging. It’s too big of a risk, not knowing.

The sound of fabric tearing jerks her out of her thoughts. She looks down. Morgana relaxes her grip on Fellow and gazes at the rip in his leg. Her red fingernails look like blood on Fellow’s pale blue surface. The sight cuts through her chest like a hot blade. She throws Fellow at her bed and lets out an angry shout.

Morgana stalks to her desk and pours out a large stiff drink. She drains it in one go. When the buzz settles, she calls Arthur.

“Morgana,” he greets. “Lovely to hear from you.”

“It’s only been a day, brother.”

“Right, but it’s been a while since we’ve chatted. What’s the occasion?” he asks. Morgana resists the desire to smash her phone against the wall in annoyance.

“I wanted to properly congratulate you on your promotion. You finally got what you wanted, after all these years,” she says. She pauses to pour another drink. It’s going to be one of those kinds of nights, apparently.

“I want to talk, Morgana, but I really don’t have more than a minute right now. Uther wants me to sit in a meetin—”

“I don’t particularly care, Arthur.”

“Are you free tomorrow at three?”

“I am. Why?” she asks suspiciously.

“Meet me for coffee – at The Isle Café. You like that place, right?” Arthur says.

“I do…. How did you—?”

“You mentioned it a while ago. Is that a yes, then?”

“Oh, all right.”

“Excellent. See you then.”

Arthur hangs up just as Morgana catches the beginning of a rage from Uther. She places her phone gingerly on the windowsill and frowns at the glow of fires in the distant streets.

She decides she only agreed because of the alcohol. Yes. Arthur’s part of the whole Emrys problem at the end of the day. Arthur _is_ the problem. Even if she gets Uther out of the way, Arthur is the perfect son – just like his father.

He, at least, is an easier threat to eliminate than Emrys.

“Arthur can never amount to anything without Emrys, nor can Emrys without Arthur,” Morgana murmurs. She smiles into her drink, feeling better already. She savors the bottle for the rest of the night.

\---

Morgana is preparing to leave for the café when she receives a summons from Uther. She slowly places the stoppers on her earrings and puts on her heels – bright turquoise, like the piping on her sleek black dress – before agreeing to follow the messenger to Uther’s study. His eyebrows rise as she walks in.

“It’s a little early to be going out, don’t you think?”

“I’m just going for coffee,” she says placidly. “I don’t need a reason to dress up.”

“You must be careful if you’re leaving the palace. Take one of the cars.”

“It’s already waiting downstairs.”

That was at Arthur’s insistence, but Uther doesn’t need to know that.

Uther rises from his desk and walks around to the front to lean against it. Morgana crosses her arms.

“How are things with your production?” he asks. Morgana blinks, taken aback.

“They were going well, until all the fighting started.”

“Do you think you could continue with putting on the play as planned?”

“For Friday?” she frowns. “It’d be damn near impossible. I’d have to track down all the cast members and give them a safe place to stay if they’ve been evacuated from their homes, if they’re even still in Camelot at this point.”

“I’ll send you a list of available premises.”

Morgana’s jaw drops.

“Why? Why are you asking me to do this now?”

“We have a war on our hands, Morgana,” Uther says, rising again. “We also have Victory Week very soon. We need to show the people that we’re doing well and that we can still find normalcy in all this madness. I want to properly advertise your production and make its opening night the headliner of Victory Week.”

“Victory Week starts on Monday, not Friday.”

“We’re extending it,” Uther says, a hint of sourness creeping into his voice.

“I don’t understand. _Wicked_ ’s plot wouldn’t—”

“I am aware of the plot and why it’s banned. It’ll cause a stir, but when people hear you’re directing and Arthur is one of the leads, there won’t be a problem.”

“You mean they’ll see you approved of it.”

“I approved it,” Uther clarifies. “It’ll be a gesture of good-will to the magical community. I don’t want this fighting to continue in our streets. We need to take this away from densely populated areas, if it must continue.”

“And you seriously believe my stupid little play is going to help you do that?” Morgana says incredulously.

“I do,” Uther says. He gestures for Morgana to join him at the window. She keeps an arm’s length between them. “I will not let Camelot fall into ruin, Morgana. Trust that I have a plan.”

Her mouth goes dry.

“I’m sure you do.”

“Go on. Arthur can’t be late to his meeting later, especially if he’ll be at rehearsal all week.”

Morgana has to force her steps even and slow, but her heels on the hardwood floor still sound frantic and give her away. She’s seething by the time she gets to the car.

“Morgana,” Morgause says when she answers Morgana’s call, her smooth voice a comfort to Morgana’s ears. The car pulls through the gates of the palace into the plaza, which is now permanently occupied by protesters, minus the night of Arthur’s ceremony when they’d been forced out. “I’m glad to hear from you.”

“I have news,” she says, “and very little time to explain.”

“Go on.”

“Well… the show must go on.”

Morgana winces at how stupid her words sound. Morgause finds it funny, at least.

“Truly?”

“Yes. Start contacting the cast. Let me know as soon as possible who needs lodgings. I can arrange for it.”

“When are we meeting?”

“Tomorrow. Work out if anyone’s still going to their jobs. If not, we meet at noon at the Repertory. If so, at six.”

“And if anyone refuses?”

“Tell them it’s by order of the King that the show goes on.”

Morgause pauses. “That’s… unusual.”

“It is. I’ve got to run. We’ll talk tomorrow,” Morgana promises. She hangs up the phone as they pull up to the curb by The Isle. She tells the driver she’ll go back with Arthur and sends him off.

Arthur waits at a table by the window – a dangerous idea, if Morgana thinks about it.

“The phone won’t ring if you stare it down, Arthur,” she says, slipping into the seat. She tucks her purse under the chair and removes her hat. Arthur glares at her. “Who’re you waiting on? Gwaine?”

Arthur’s face colors slightly.

“Among others, yes.”

“You two looked good together the other night,” she continues, “though I must admit, I was surprised.”

“Why?” Arthur asks, looking down at his phone again. He huffs and swipes it off the table.

“Well, a week ago you seemed to only have eyes for Merlin, and there you were kissing Gwaine for all the cameras and fancy people of the court,” Morgana says. Arthur’s shoulders tense instantly. “Old flame or not, you were _very_ convincing.”

“We give people what they want to see,” Arthur grits out. “You of all people know that.”

“All too well,” she says with a dramatic sigh. “Now, get me my coffee.”

She drops a five-dollar bill in front of him and smiles sweetly until he looks too unnerved to stay seated. She curses when she realizes he’s taken his phone with him. Arthur smirks at her over his shoulder while he orders at the counter.

Arthur returns with her drink shortly and they drink quietly for a few minutes.

“Are you happy now?” Morgana asks. “Now that you’ve got what you wanted.”

“I haven’t got it yet, Morgana.”

“You got the post. What more do you want?”

“I want peace,” Arthur says, turning his face toward the window. “That’s all I want. The post is just a way to get it.”

“You do realize there can never be peace when people with magic hold no power, status, or respect in Camelot,” she says sharply. “You talk of peace but we’re witnessing the birth of a second Purge as we sit here.”

“All the more reason to take the post!” he exclaims. “I can do something about it now! I have the power to make changes, Morgana!”

“And to allow a massacre of my people along the way,” she hisses. “You only got this post because of that raid you led last week. How many bodies were carried away? How much blood was shed for your _post_?”

“Far too much, I’m afraid,” Arthur says resolutely. Morgana sits back and slides her drink aside, waiting for Arthur to look her in the eye.

“You’ve done your father’s work well,” she finally says. “I congratulate you from the bottom of my heart.”

“You’re right,” Arthur replies with no hesitation. Morgana stifles her surprise. “You are. I fucked up absolutely and completely. I hate myself for what I did and, to be honest, I have no excuse. I knew it’d be a mistake going in, but I didn’t listen.”

“To whom?”

“Merlin,” Arthur sighs. “He’s not as much of an as idiot as he looks.”

Morgana cracks a smile.

“I’ve never considered him an idiot. Clumsy, yes.”

“Terribly,” he says with a weak, restrained laugh. “He told me. He warned me that Uther was just using me and manipulating me to get me to do what he wanted done, but I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted to trust my father when I should’ve trusted Merlin.”

“I can’t imagine he took that well.”

“No,” Arthur says. His voice breaks.

“Merlin’s a smart lad. You’d best hope he lets you apologize.”

“If he ever comes back.”

“He’s not back yet?” Morgana frowns. “Where the hell did he go?”

“I don’t know. I had a guess, but I don’t think he’s there anymore,” Arthur says. His face pales before her eyes. “I don’t have a damn clue.”

Arthur looks absolutely _terrified_ , and it strikes Morgana speechless.

“I don’t know what to do. About any of this,” he says. He doesn’t look any different than the child who gave her Fellow all those years ago.

“Why are you asking me? We aren’t….”

“I know,” Arthur says. It’s probably as close to an acknowledgement of what’s really going on as they’ll ever get.

“I can’t help you,” she says softly. She feels like her voice is echoing in an empty room and it makes her chest feel hollow. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

Arthur looks away. She catches a glimpse of his face; he looks heartbroken, his hand wrapped tightly around his phone. Morgana sighs loudly.

“I certainly hope he comes back soon,” she goes on. “The show opens in four days and we can’t do it without him.”

 _That_ wipes the sad-puppy-look off Arthur’s face cleanly. She dives right into the explanation, relieved to leave the matter of Merlin behind, for Arthur’s sake. As ready as she is to see him out of her way, she doesn’t enjoy rubbing salt into this particular fresh wound. The time isn’t right for it anyway.


	14. Thank Goodness, Part Two

**Arthur**

 

Arthur is absolutely ready to go to sleep early when he gets back from a full day of meetings and accomplishing absolutely nothing. The Council is running on caffeine and desperation, what with the ongoing riots and no sign of peace in sight. Arthur spoke out against the decision not to accept the Mercian emissary’s offer to moderate a peace talk between Uther’s people and the insurgents. It earned him a vicious verbal lashing from more than one member of Uther’s council.

He’s exhausted, upset, and frustrated, and Merlin’s phone is definitely totally broken.

“Idiot,” he mutters, tossing his own phone aside after making a futile attempt at calling him.

A minute later, Arthur’s phone rings stridently. Hope spikes dangerously high in his chest, and it doesn’t quite die out when he sees Gaius is calling.

“Arthur,” he says. He sounds wary. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you. Are you free?”

“I am. I can be at your flat in half an hour,” Arthur says.

“Then I shall see you soon,” Gaius says before hanging up abruptly. Arthur eyes his phone in his hand curiously.

He takes a quick shower and changes into jeans and a t-shirt. Just as he’s putting on his shoes, George knocks.

“Sir, your father wishes to know if you’ll be joining him for dinner.”

“Not tonight. Tell him I’m not feeling well and I’ll try for tomorrow.”

“Of course,” he says, fixing his eyes on something to the left of Arthur’s trainers. “Good night, sire.”

“Night, George.”

Arthur waits five more minutes before hurrying to the parking lot and driving around the palace perimeter to the entrance nearest Gaius’s apartment. He passes several groups of armed guards on patrol. They don’t stop him, but they know who he is just by the license plate. Others, from what Arthur’s seen lately, aren’t nearly so lucky.

Gaius is waiting for him with tea and sandwiches. Arthur’s grateful. He remembers vividly how he hated eating in the palace when he and Morgana came home from university on breaks. It’s always a stuffy affair with four forks, tiny desserts, and not nearly enough smiling and talking just for the hell of it. This – sandwiches and tea – is much more Arthur’s speed, as it’d been since he took the job at the DoME.

“Do you miss it?” Gaius asks halfway through dinner.

“Work? I’m glad to have this position now.”

“It’s not quite what you anticipated?” Gaius suggests, picking up on the barest amount of hesitation in his voice. Arthur looks away, feeling a twinge of shame. “You’ve only had the post a week. Give it time.”

“I’m just tired,” says Arthur. He shakes his head and yawns at the mere thought of going to bed.

“Have you been sleeping well?” Gaius asks, peering at Arthur, making him feel like he’s under a microscope.

“Decently,” he lies. “It’s been a stressful week.”

“If you’re having problems, I have some remedies, including ones I prescribed to Morgana for years. All you have to do is ask, Arthur,” he insists.

“They never worked for her,” he says distantly. “It was her magic that gave her the nightmares, Gaius.”

“Then who’s to say the remedies won’t work on you? You haven’t got any magic to keep you up,” he says.

Arthur shakes his head, swiftly too weary to be bothered to speak. He slides a little lower and props his head up on his fist, leaning into the wing of the armchair.

“What is it you needed to tell me?”

Gaius moves his food and tea aside, sitting back in his chair. Through the window beside them, the city of Camelot is alight with fighting, a jagged, glowing mess against the dark blue sky.

“It’s something Merlin told me,” he begins. Arthur snaps to attention. “He ought to be back in Camelot by now, but he surely ran into trouble getting in, what with all the men Uther’s put on the ground.”

“Do you know where he is?” Arthur asks suddenly.

“Not right now, no, but I can tell you where he was.”

“Ealdor?”

Gaius nods.

“I’m going to guess he was also close to the Mercian border about a week ago,” Arthur says cautiously. Gaius isn’t as quick to agree, but he does nod. Arthur sags. “What happened?”

“His family was attacked. There were people after them – still after them, truth be told – and they needed to get out. I helped discharge them from the hospital, but I haven’t seen Merlin since then,” Gaius explains.

“Is he in Mercia?”

“Unless he changed his mind, he isn’t. We discussed this. He promised he would return because he had something to tell you, Arthur,” Gaius says. “He told me that if he wasn’t back by Monday morning to tell you myself.”

“It’s Monday night.”

“That is why I’ve called you here,” Gaius says.

His voice trails away. He looks out at the window. Whatever Gaius feels, Arthur feels it too – a pull, a thin thread that tugs at his chest and peels away the thin film over all the sad, inconceivable things he’s catalogued away recently. Camelot burning elicits a sense of loss and fear that Arthur realizes he’s been fighting all week on more than one front.

“What is it?”

Gaius eases upright to lean in and tell Arthur, as though someone might overhear them, when something heavy collides with the front door. Gaius starts. Arthur jumps to his feet. Whoever is on the other side starts knocking frantically.

Arthur wrenches the door open.

Merlin trips across the threshold. Arthur gets an eyeful of red – that’s a _lot_ of blood on his shirt – as he rushes past and into the depths of the flat without a word. Arthur hears a door shut softly.

He closes the front door. Gaius matches Arthur’s confused stare measure for measure as he rises slowly from his chair. He opens his mouth, but a sharp rapping on the door cuts him off. Arthur opens it again and instead is face with two out of breath officers.

“Sire,” they say, eyes widening under the brims of their caps. They salute him. Arthur waves them off.

“What’s this about?”

“We were in pursuit of a potential threat. Have you heard anyone come through?”

“Not a peep, in fact. You’ve interrupted what was a very quiet and relaxing dinner,” Arthur says coldly. “I suggest you search elsewhere.”

“Yes sir.”

They leave without another word. Arthur shuts the door with extra force. He could smell the gunpowder residue on one of the officers and it takes all his strength not to pitch the man down the stairwell.

He counts to ten before following Gaius to the back of the flat where Merlin is likely curled up in the bathtub clutching his bleeding shoulder and laughing it off like the turniphead he is. The very thought makes Arthur want to scream at him – and never let him out of his goddamn sight ever again.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

“Hold _still_ ,” Gaius says shortly. “Arthur, hold his arm steady.”

“Gladly,” he says in a low, even voice that makes Merlin cringe. The alcohol on the swab Gaius keeps using on his wound makes him jerk again. Arthur grabs his upper arm quickly and pins him to the side of the bathtub.

“Angle up a little more,” Gaius says.

“Ow!”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur grumbles.

“Brace his shoulder on the other side of the wound, there, by his neck. Yes, that’s good. I’m going to take the bullet out now, so you must hold still,” he says.

The little metal cone in Merlin’s shoulder gives a pulse that cuts straight into his magic. His vision blacks out and he only recovers a few moments later. Arthur’s hands are like metal traps on him. Merlin wipes sweat off his forehead.

“Just do it,” he says, turning his face away.

The bullet fights. It wiggles away from Gaius’s tools, burrows deeper, forces out what little magic it holds and makes the light in the bathroom flicker – it does everything it can to stay where it is. Gaius’s tweezers are too blunt, to boot.

“Fuck,” Merlin breathes as the bullet shifts and warmth spreads around the wound.

Arthur’s hand finds the back of head.

“Hey. Stay with us, Merlin,” Arthur says. “Gaius?”

“Drink this.”

Gaius presses a cup to his lips. Merlin swallows the water readily. Slowly he stops feeling like he’s made of cotton and he can see the bathroom again. Arthur’s hand still rests on the back of his head, his fingers brushing over the hair on the nape of his neck over and over.

Merlin still can’t look at him.

“It’s magical. Somehow. Sort of. I don’t know how,” he says.

“They’re designed to attack magic, too,” Arthur says quietly. “These are state of the art weapons on the streets.”

“That’s great,” he says as the room starts to spin again. “Let me try.”

Merlin covers the wound with his hand. His skin is slick with blood, and his arm is so heavy. Arthur’s hand finds Merlin’s and sits just firmly enough to keep Merlin’s from falling.

It takes quite a push, and only so much because Merlin’s magic has been a lightning storm compared to the drizzle it was before his father’s death. He barely has the energy to concentrate on staying conscious, let alone on focusing his magic at anything, but he _pushes_ —

The bullet rips out of him and lands in Merlin’s waiting palm. He pulls out of Arthur’s grip and shows them the bullet. Gaius takes it away. The moment it leaves contact with his skin, Merlin’s magic pitches forward. His shoulder feels like it’s been set on fire from the inside. He’s vaguely aware of Arthur’s hand over his mouth and his arms holding him down, but he can’t feel much past the pain. Once the haze fades, Merlin can feel his muscle knitting back together, his skin suturing itself up with an invisible hook. It’s so unsettling he can’t stop the repulsed convulsion.

“Shh. I’ve got you,” he hears Arthur murmur. Merlin turns his face into Arthur’s shoulder and breathes him in deeply. Arthur’s arms tighten around him, and Merlin finally starts to relax.

\---

When Merlin wakes, he’s lying on Gaius’s sizeable couch with a blanket tucked carefully around him so it doesn’t touch his injured shoulder and arm, currently in a sturdy sling. The bandages are snug but Merlin sees no blood coming through, so he can’t complain. He sits up and rapidly realizes two things – he’s not wearing his shirt, which makes sense considering how much blood he spilled on it, and Arthur’s asleep in Gaius’s chair by the window. It’s dark out, but for the glow.

Merlin stands up and pulls the blanket tightly around him. He tests his shoulder; it’s stiff and sore, but he doesn’t feel excruciating pain like he had when the bullet was making a home in him. He pads across the cold floor, his bare feet a little sweaty from the feverish sleep, and sits down across from Arthur. The chair squeaks. Arthur wakes instantly.

“Light sleeper, are you?” Merlin says.

“Never broke the habit from the military days,” he says groggily. Arthur scrubs his face a few times before blinking at Merlin repeatedly. He looks so _tired_. Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if this were the first proper sleep he’d managed in a while. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Pretty good, considering,” he replies.

“You were shot,” says Arthur, “by my people.”

“They were just doing their jobs. Uther’s giving their orders, remember?”

“Still—”

“Don’t do this. It’s not your fault. I won’t let you convince yourself it is,” Merlin says curtly. Arthur blinks slowly again. “God, you look horrible.”

“Right, like you’re looking your best,” he retorts.

“I got shot,” Merlin says with a wide smile. “What’s your excuse?”

Arthur shrugs. Merlin frowns.

“You can tell me,” he says.

“Not now,” Arthur sighs. “It’s four in the morning.”

“Please? I’m okay. Really!”

He moves his arm in his sling a few times to demonstrate. Arthur glares.

“Fine,” Merlin mutters. “Don’t talk.”

“Why are you back here?” he asks suddenly. It takes Merlin a few moments to gather his words.

“Camelot’s my home,” he says. Merlin looks out the window. “When I first came here, I’d never seen anything like it. It was the most beautiful place, better than anything I’d ever dreamt up. I had to come back for a couple of reasons, but when I got here and saw what it looks like now – dark and full of fire and guns going off all day and night – I don’t want that to be what Camelot’s like now.”

“So… why did you come back?”

“I’m here to help you make things right,” Merlin says simply. Arthur meets his eye for the first time since Merlin hurled himself into the apartment. His gaze goes straight to his core, coiling in the middle of his body hot and strong. Merlin takes a steadying breath.

“What about your family?”

“My mum’s gone to Mercia, and Will’s with what’s left of Druid Group in Camelot. We walked back from the border. It wasn’t an easy trip, let me tell you!”

“What about your dad?”

“Dead,” Merlin says. He abruptly feels cold all over. He shuts his eyes, trying to block out the memories, but it doesn’t work – it never works. They wash over him like a wave that’s too tall to leave him standing upright in its wake.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says. “Truly.”

“Thanks.”

“I never understood that. Thanking someone for saying they’re sorry,” he murmurs.

“Me neither,” Merlin says. His chest feels tight. “You’ve probably figured out what happened to those officers by the border.”

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Arthur says quickly. “I want to, though, when you do.”

“Let’s save it for when we’re both ready to talk,” says Merlin. Arthur looks a little pale at the thought, but he agrees.

“Whatever you needed to tell me better be worth getting shot,” he says, half-joking.

“It is,” he says, breathing in deeply. “Morgana and Morgause are the Priestesses.”

Arthur stares at him, incapable of speaking at first.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“How do you know?”

“Gwen. She heard them talking when they didn’t know she was there,” says Merlin. He edges closer to Arthur. “You had to know. I told Gaius to tell you if I didn’t make it back in a week.”

“Yeah. You beat him to it by about ten seconds,” Arthur says flatly. He collapses back against the chair. He lets his head fall to the side against the wing. The glow outside intensifies, casting unearthly shadows in the hollows of his cheekbones. “I hoped – damn it. I knew it was possible but….”

“I know,” Merlin says. “I didn’t want it to be them either.”

“Morgause, I can believe, but Morgana? She’s my sister. I can’t believe she’d want all this to happen,” Arthur says waving at the window. His face twists, fighting something hard. “Why would she do this?”

“I don’t know.”

“What does she want?”

“What do they all want?”

“My father out of power,” Arthur says. His face falls. “She’s always been clear how much she hates his policies and opinions on the matter.”

Merlin reaches across and steadies Arthur’s hands. He looks up at Merlin, his gaze pained and bare.

“She’s my _sister_.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I don’t like it any more than you do.”

Arthur drops his gaze, a wry smile forming on his face.

“Still got a song and a dance in your heart, Merlin?”

“Er. Why?”

“The show must go on,” he says, starting to laugh. “Damn it all, but we’re opening the show on Friday night.”

“You can’t be serious,” Merlin gapes. Arthur starts to laugh in full.

“By order of the king, we’re headlining Victory week. Can you believe that?”

“Perfect. That’s… great,” he says dizzily. “Let’s sing about our feelings with the people who want to destroy Camelot. That’s totally normal in the middle of a war.”

“Don’t question the king’s orders, Merlin. That’s treason.”

“So we sing or we face the guillotine?”

“Pretty much,” Arthur says, failing to keep a straight face.

He dissolves into heady laughter infectious enough that pretty soon Merlin’s laughing, too. There’s been very little to laugh about lately. It makes his body hurt with what he’s been missing so dearly. His skin feels like it’s on fire by the time they calm down, reduced to smiling dopily at each other.

Arthur scrubs his face and says, “I’m so sleep-deprived.”

“I hear that,” Merlin yawns. He shakes the blanket off his hot skin, only to flush even harder when he finds Arthur gazing at him. Even in the darkness of the room Merlin can see him blush. Merlin barely hides his smile. “Have you heard from Gwen and Lance?”

“They’ve been at Gwen’s, I think,” Arthur says. “I haven’t heard from them. Been busy.”

“Ah. What about Gwaine?”

“He’s well,” Arthur says. He winces. “You don’t want to know.”

Merlin accepts it. Quiet settles between them.

“What are we going to do?”

He sounds so lost. Merlin’s no better, really.

“Right now, we’re going to sleep,” he says. Merlin stands up and bunches up the blanket under his arm. He pauses by Arthur’s chair. “Are you coming or staying there?”

“I can’t go back now, Merlin,” he shakes his head. “Too many patrols out. I don’t want to deal with the questions.”

“I meant to the couch, dumbass,” Merlin says. Arthur looks up. He looks lost, too. “It’s big enough for both of us, unless you think the chair’s a better bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You need the space.”

“For what? My shoulder? I’m fine!”

“Like hell you are.”

Defiantly Merlin presses the heel of his hand into his bandages. It doesn’t hurt at all. Arthur looks torn between being outwardly livid and trying to come up with an appropriate insult. Merlin grins.

“See? It’s almost like magic.”

“Idiot,” Arthur mutters.

He stands and follows Merlin to the couch anyway.

It takes them a few minutes to figure out exactly to fit together. They tire themselves out laughing at their failures and eventually collapse quite comfortably, folding into each other naturally. Arthur’s like a furnace under him, Merlin’s cheek turning hot where he’s pillowed on his chest.

“You’re so warm. Maybe you’re really a dragon,” Merlin murmurs. Arthur runs his fingers up and down Merlin’s spine, making him shiver and effectively solving the problem. Merlin tightens his hold on Arthur’s waist.

He says something that sounds suspiciously like _I’d be yours_ , but Merlin doesn’t have the energy to ask what he means and if it should make him feel as hopeful as it does.

“Night, Arthur,” he says into Arthur’s shirt. He breathes him in deeply again and is utterly and completely at ease for the first time in so, so long. A chuckle rumbles under Merlin’s ear.

“Good night, Merlin.”


	15. Wonderful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wonderful](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96P47MYipmY)

**Merlin**

 

Merlin wakes to a very loud clatter. The couch under him jumps, which only makes him jump, too – and that’s how he and Arthur wind up tangled on the floor. Gaius walks into Merlin’s line of sight (upside down, mind you).

“Sorry,” he says. He holds up a broken teacup. “My hands shake.”

“Good thing you’ve got your assistant now,” Arthur says, his voice rough with sleep. Merlin scrambles away before Arthur can feel just how much of an effect he and his stupid voice and his bed-head have on him. Arthur isn’t paying him any attention anyway – his eyes go wide as saucers when he glances at his watch. “Fucking _hell_ , I’m going to be late!”

“How late?”

“I have to be in the Council chambers in seven minutes,” Arthur says. “Gaius? Where are my shoes?”

“In the closet by the door,” he says. He presses a cup of scalding tea into Arthur’s hand. He downs it. Merlin winces.

Merlin unties his sling as he crosses the room to where Arthur’s jacket is draped over the back of Gaius’s chair.

“How are you feeling?” Gaius asks.

“Pretty good,” he says, rolling his shoulder gently. Gaius prods him, but he doesn’t find anything noteworthy, if his pleased huff is anything to go by. “My magic helped.”

“It’s the only thing that got the bullet out,” he says seriously. Merlin glimpses Arthur’s stiff shoulders and shakes his head. Gaius backs away.

He returns to Arthur, offering his jacket.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. Merlin looks over his shoulder; Gaius has conveniently disappeared.

“Arthur, there is one more thing you need to know,” he says, dropping his voice.

“Can it wait?”

“Probably not,” Merlin says. “I saw Kay in Ealdor.”

“What? Why?”

“Remember I saw him drop a map of Ealdor that day? It must have to do with that. I don’t understand it, but—”

“He was supposed to be with my team,” Arthur says, his expression darkening.

“Arthur, he was there with a host of other officers to handle the riots and to keep people from leaving Camelot,” says Merlin urgently.

“Those were their orders, but he was supposed to be with me, following _my_ orders.”

“Yes, but why did he have a map of Ealdor marked up with all the Druid group meeting locations days before the riots even started? Why would he need it?”

“I don’t have a damn clue I swear I’ll find out,” Arthur says. He squares his shoulders.

“It’s not just for me, Arthur. It’s for us, and for people like me,” he says, then pauses. “I keep feeling like no matter what we learn, we’re missing a huge piece of the puzzle.”

“I agree,” he sighs.

“Hey. We’re going to do this,” Merlin says, grasping Arthur’s upper arm. He looks back from the window at him. “Look at what we’ve got.”

“What’s that, then?”

“You, and me. I mean, I’m more likely to make a building explode by accident, but you’re the one who can figure this out,” Merlin says, smiling widely. “If anyone can do it, it’s you, Arthur.”

Arthur looks at him like he’s got a couple of screws loose. It’s not entirely impossible, considering how erratic his magic has been, which only makes Merlin grin even more hugely.

“I’ve got to go,” he says with a sigh. “Are you planning on hanging off me all day?”

“Bet your father would love that.”

He releases Arthur’s arm.

“Are you going to be okay?” Arthur asks as he slides his arms through his jacket. He pulls the collar up, popping it in a way that should absolutely look stupid but it really just makes Merlin’s legs turn into jelly embarrassingly quickly.

“Think so,” he says faintly.

“Good,” he says, throwing Merlin a smile as he opens the door. He turns back. “Come by my office at five. Just ask one of the guards how to get there.”

“What for?”

“Well, if you don’t want to see me—”

“ _Arthur_.”

He laughs, his smile remarkably bright considering how upset he’d just looked.

“That damn phone of yours needs replacing. We’ll get you one on the way to rehearsal.”

He’s out the door and down the stairs before Merlin can muster a response. Merlin throws himself on the couch and buries his head under a pillow. If he ever thought spending a week in the wilderness running from the government with Will would smother any feelings he had for Arthur, even if he was properly mad with and disappointed in him at first, Merlin was _so_ wrong.

“Merlin? Let me check you properly so we can get to work. I’m running late already.”

“Sorry, Gaius,” he says with a wince.

Gaius is waiting for him in the bathroom. Merlin sits quietly while Gaius examines him. He hands Merlin his shirt, now perfectly clean.

“May I offer some advice, Merlin?” Gaius asks.

“Sure,” he says warily.

“Be careful, in every way you can,” he says. He looks around the tiny bathroom. “Uther is a ruthless man at heart, even if his actions were once well-intended. He has most rooms in the palace bugged, as well as all the government offices.”

Merlin gapes.

“That can’t be legal.”

“He’s the king. He can find ways to do whatever he wishes,” Gaius says tiredly. “You see why you and Arthur must be cautious?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Do you think your flat’s bugged?”

“I cannot say for certain, but I have reason to fear it. My storeroom, however, is not, as it was a closet until recently.”

“I’ll make sure Arthur knows.”

“There is another side to this, Merlin,” he says quickly. “What you and Arthur are doing is your own business, but we are in a war. Uther won’t hesitate to hurt others if it’ll get him what he wants. It’s the way he ran the Purge and I’m certain he will do the same now.”

“He can’t have always been like this, Gaius,” says Merlin, grasping at straws to find something _good_ in what he saw of the king.

“Ygraine’s death brought out a side of him that was not so obvious before,” Gaius says. He waves at Merlin and leads him out of the bathroom to his storeroom at the end of the hall. “Start finding these and pack them into the case on the table.”

Merlin can barely read Gaius’s faded labels.

“My mother told me about Ygraine,” Merlin says. Gaius looks sharply at him. “About how they were at school together, how close they were. She told me she even took care of Arthur when he was very young.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“About my father being the last dragonlord,” Merlin says. He pauses, his fingers curling around the smooth, cool surface of a medicine bottle. The feel of it steadies him. “He told me to find someone called Kilgarrah.”

“Kilgarrah?” Gaius gasps.

“So you know him?”

“He… Merlin, you had best hope you cannot speak to him,” Gaius says in a low voice. “He is the Great Dragon, sealed away in the Underground.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t imagine why your father told you to do this,” says Gaius, shaking his head.

“It was his dying wish, Gaius.”

“You didn’t say he died.”

“Oh. Er, sorry.”

Gaius sits heavily in the rickety chair by the door. “And your mother?”

“Safe in Mercia.”

“Balinor….”

“Gaius?”

“I wish I could have spoken to him,” Gaius says, his head falling into his open palm. His hair long white hair falls over his face.

“What happened?”

“The Purge brought out the worst in us all, Merlin. We all did what was necessary to survive.”

Merlin glances back. Gaius always looks like he’s weighed down by his age, but now he looks like he’s carrying centuries in the lines of his face and whole lifetimes in the hollows of his eyes. Merlin places the bottles in his hands on the case and kneels beside Gaius.

“He knew that. Hell, even I know that. He didn’t die hating you, Gaius, I know it.”

He shakes his head slowly.

“If only it were so simple, Merlin,” he says sadly. “Some things cannot be forgiven. The costs sometimes do outweigh the gain.”

Merlin’s mind flashes back to his argument with Arthur. He can’t be angry with him anymore, not knowing now how haunted Arthur is by the whole situation and how much he’s suffering. It’s painfully obvious to Merlin, and he only wishes he can make it easier for him.

“That’s true, but what’s important is you understand that,” he insists. “Retrospect can be very clear, you know.”

Gaius smiles wryly.

“I am sorry to ramble on,” he says. “I’m not used to having someone to talk to.”

“Well, you’ve got me now,” Merlin says brightly.

Beneath the way Gaius side-eyes him, Merlin can tell he’s pleased.

\---

Rehearsal runs late, and it’s mostly Merlin’s fault. He knows he’s off-key half the time, and a quarter of the time his tempo’s off or he misses a cue on the stage. Morgana drags him aside at the end of the day, hauling him into a corner backstage.

“Wherever the hell you’ve been for the last week, I don’t give a bloody _damn_ ,” she snarls. “You need to get your shit together by tomorrow’s dress rehearsal.”

“I’m not—”

“No excuses,” she snaps. “We’ve all been out of commission. We’ve all been stressed and trying to deal with this damned situation. If they can work it out,” she points at Mordred and Kara, who had to sneak through the border patrol from their druid camp to get to the theater, “you sure as hell can. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Merlin say, his voice coming out small and tired, but it’s just a testament to his self-restraint.

Gwaine whistles low and long, sidling up to Merlin as Morgana stalks away to yell at her next victim.

“She’s not in a good mood,” Merlin sighs.

“You can say that again,” he laughs. Gwaine throws an arm around Merlin and leans in. “Will says hi.”

Merlin starts.

“Will? You mean _Will_ Will?”

“Yep. Got roped into sponsoring him. The little git’s sleeping in my spare room,” Gwaine says.

“You’re with the Druid Group?” Merlin utters.

“Civilian volunteer, actually,” he says, “just like your mate.”

“Oh. Wow. I had no idea.”

“I don’t go around shouting it from the rooftops.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Pretty well. He’s working with the runners,” says Gwaine.

“The ones running people across the patrol lines?”

“Yep.”

“That’s….”

“Dangerous? Fuck yeah. That sounded like why Will signed up in the first place,” says Gwaine. He shakes his head, his hair brushing Merlin’s cheek. “You got time for a coffee tomorrow at noon?”

“I guess – what’s this about?”

“Will wants you to stop by tonight. He says he’s got something to talk to you about,” he replies. “He sounded pretty damn spooked, to be completely honest.”

“All right….”

“Coffee’s something else, but it’s important. Trust me on this, eh, Merlin?”

“Yeah, alright,” Merlin says, ducking when Gwaine tries to ruffle his hair. “Hey! Quit that!”

“What, I’ve seen Arthur do it. Can’t I?”

He bats his eyelashes at Merlin.

“Shove off,” Merlin grins. He looks over and sees Morgana glaring at him. He snaps his mouth shut.

“What’d you do to piss her off?” Arthur asks, materializing on Merlin’s other side.

“Did you miss the part where I tripped over the cloak and nearly broke the broom handle?”

“And my arm.”

“Exactly!”

“Arthur, mate, I’m going to have to steal your man for tonight,” Gwaine says, sliding an arm around Merlin’s waist. Arthur’s face goes from mildly annoyed to red as the Pendragon crest in no time at all. “Take a breath, princess. You can come, too.”

“Er. You sure about that?” Merlin asks.

“Yeah, Will says it’s fine.”

“Really?” Merlin frowns.

“I told him you’re attached to Arthur at the hip – or some other body part, but who’s keeping track?”

Arthur sputters. Merlin can’t get his mouth to form words.

“Great. Let’s go,” Gwaine beams.

“I’m needed at the palace. See you tomorrow,” Arthur says abruptly.

He hops off the stage and makes for the exit. Merlin looks between him and Gwaine a few times.

“You’re both idiots if you’re not actually attached at the—,” Gwaine says.

“ _Gwaine!_ ”

Arthur’s car is long gone when they get to the street. Merlin hates the twinge of disappointment he feels – then stiffens when it causes ripples in his magic. Gwaine gives him an odd look, but, for once, he doesn’t comment.

“Whatever Will’s got to say better be good,” Merlin mutters.

“Sounded like it is.”

“Gwaine, his idea of a big deal is usually the nice brand of cigs on sale at the mini-mart,” says Merlin. He drops his head back against the headrest.

“Or anything bad the government does.”

“Picked up on that?”

“Never shuts up, that one.”

“Nah,” Merlin says with a fond smile.

“I think it’s gonna be good, Merlin. Let the princess get a little jealous tonight.”

Merlin doesn’t reply. The idea makes him smile, and his magic settles a little. He hides his smile behind a fist and turns his face toward the window, watching the streets and patrol checkpoints fly by with the utmost concentration.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

She watches the sun rise over the trees and feels like another stone is settling on her chest. Morgana heaves a deep breath. She rolls over in bed, burrowing into the sheets and pillows, but she can’t sleep – not without waking every hour or so with horrible nightmares, the sort that haven’t plagued her for years. There’s something different about them this time, and it worries her. This time she can feel it’s magic.

Morgause isn’t answering her calls. The night before they argued worse than they had in a long time. It used to be over how to execute a plan or whether or not to trust someone new within their circle, but this time it was Emrys. Her words— _obsessed_ , _paranoid_ , _naïve_ , _stupid_ —play over and over in her ears. She keeps saying it’s nothing, but Morgana knows that’s false. For the first time in a long time, she and Morgause are no longer on the same page about how to proceed with their movement.

This rift between them isn’t helping her nightmares and insomnia, she knows that much. Morgause refusing to help her like when they first met, when she spent nights in her bed, whispering spells in her ear, running her fingers through her hair and gifting her charms every other day—that’s another reason.

Morgana waits until it’s closer to seven-thirty before getting up and dressing. She walks slowly across the palace all the way to Gaius’s apartment where she knows the physician will be preparing to make his rounds.

It’s Merlin, however, who opens the door.

“Morgana,” he grins. “What can we do for you?”

“Is Gaius here?”

“He’s in the back. Hang on a sec.”

Merlin darts down the hall and around a corner. Morgana perches on the arm of the couch. There are pillows and a blanket folded messily on the other end. On the table by the window there are two teacups and two plates with scones lathered in bright red jam.

“Gaius’ll be right out. He’s just got to finish something up,” says Merlin.

“I just need my old sleep remedy. Do you think you could fetch it for me?”

“Er, I think so? Gaius said he doesn’t have too many lying around.”

“I’ve been well for a while.”

“Did you have a bad night?” he asks. Morgana nods. “I’ll go ask him.”

Merlin disappears again, only to return a few seconds later with a familiar purple bottle.

“Thank you, Merlin,” she says as she pockets the bottle. “I’m sure it’ll help at least a little.”

“That’s my job,” he says, still smiling. She doesn’t know how he’s so happy.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night,” she blurts. Merlin’s smile slips. “It wasn’t fair. You’ve had it no easier than the rest of us and I didn’t chew anyone out the way I did to you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly. “Really, it’s fine. I’ll be singing all day before rehearsal. I’ll drive Gaius’s patients up the wall.”

She can’t help but smile at that. Morgana pauses, and then she decides to take a risk.

“You’re kind, Merlin. I appreciate it. People like us ought to stay close during times like these.”

“Like… us? What do you mean by that?”

“People with magic, of course,” she says sweetly. She watches the blood drain from his face. “It’s okay! Truly. I understand what’s happening.”

“Really? I sure don’t! How the hell do you know?” he exclaims.

“Mordred has a gift for understanding magic,” says Morgana. “He sensed your magic long ago, and that it’s not quite… normal.”

“Defective’s more like it,” Merlin admits.

“I get it,” she insists. “My magic was like that for years. It was agony.”

“I’ve been like this since I was _born_ , Morgana. It’s only getting worse,” he says. His eyes seem to sink into his pallid face. Gone is the cheery smile from moments ago.

“Something needs to happen. That’s what it was for me. It was like… a wall,” she says slowly. Merlin watches her unblinkingly, clinging to every word. “I remember what it was like when it came down. It was like part of me shattering, and then it wasn’t part of me at all. It hurt, but it felt incredible when the pain went away.”

“Did you ever hurt someone? Accidentally?”

“No,” she lies.

Her body goes cold at the memory of how volatile she was that day. She can still hear Arthur screaming at her, yelling at fierce, loyal Gwen to get out of their apartment, while Morgana curled up, barely able to contain her magic. When she couldn’t hold it in any longer, she _broke_ , and a bookshelf came crashing down, breaking Arthur’s arm on the way.

Merlin won’t take kindly to her if she tells him that, and she just might need him someday.

“It’s all right if you have,” she says gently.

Merlin shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter much now, does it?”

“I suppose not.”

Morgana rises from the couch and walks toward the door.

“How’d you get past the block?” he asks. She turns back.

“I stopped being scared of what I could do and I just let it go,” she says. “In retrospect, that is.”

“It’s not that simple. Not for me,” Merlin sighs. Gaius walks down the hall toward him.

“Thanks again,” Morgana says, patting her pocket. She leaves before Gaius can trap her with questions about the nightmares.

She knows it’s because of magic. It was always magic. At first, it was her own, but now it feels different. It’s like someone else’s hand around her throat. Morgana goes straight back to her room, downs the potion, and waits for sleep.

The potion is a little magic, too. Morgana suspects it’s less a remedy for sleep and more a strong sedative mixed with a mixture to suppress or banish magic, after all she’s learned from Morgause. She doesn’t particularly care, though. She’s tired as hell, and it pulls her under almost immediately.

\---

It’s close to lunch when Morgana wakes. She makes her way to the kitchen to grab some scraps from breakfast before heading to the theater. She passes Gaius making his way back to his rooms – alone. Morgana doesn’t have to wonder very long about Merlin’s whereabouts; Morgana catches sight of Merlin dragging Arthur out the back door into the gardens. She hurries after them, ducking onto the promenade behind a large stone column. She hopes she won’t end up listening to them make out like horny teenagers.

She watches and waits until they settle in the far corner of the garden before casting her magic out. Their words tune in and come into focus.

“… said he saw a guy at the meeting acting a little odd. Same guy as the first night, mind you,” Merlin says. “So Will followed the guy out. He followed him here, to the palace, where he swiped in with a government ID.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Will said the guards were greeting him like they knew him.”

Arthur pauses.

“It makes sense, I think,” he says almost too quietly for Morgana to catch. “Father had me hunting down that nest for ages, and then he just up and gave me the address that day? It didn’t make sense, but if he had someone on the inside who gave him the info, it sure as hell does!”

Morgana’s blood turns to ice.

“What if he’s a mole for the insurgents? Or a triple agent?”

She shakes her head, sliding down the pillar until she’s sitting on the edge of the pedestal, her heart racing.

“Not likely,” says Arthur. “All government employees are screened for magic and associations with magic users. Was he a civilian volunteer?”

“Will said he wasn’t sure,” Merlin replies.

“My father has a mole in the Druid group,” Arthur murmurs. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Morgana clenches her shaking hands.

It fills in the gaps. It surely explains how Uther was so prepared for their revolt – and if he knew about that plan, then he knew about the Blood Guard in the bunker, waiting to fight and be captured for the sake of gathering intel from Meleagant.

She digs her nails into her palms.

He knew. He was ready and waiting with open arms, instruments of torture in the wings. She knows the horror stories of Meleagant during the Purge, but there wasn’t a damn reason to think it’d be back up to its old standards now, not after being stripped of its “rights to interrogate” about fifteen years ago.

Morgana sent fifty good people to their slow deaths and Uther happily let them come.

The pillar beside her cracks. The chatter in her ear stutters. She releases her spell and steals inside when she knows Merlin and Arthur aren’t looking.

“Morgana, will you be joining for dinner? Or are you on your way to the theater?” Uther asks, practically rising from the carpets to greet her. She startles, but she rapidly recovers.

“No, I’ll be at the theater tonight,” she says, mustering up as steady a voice as she can manage.

“We’ll have to dine properly once the show opens,” he says with a smile. “To celebrate, of course.”

She offers a weak smile before running away, feeling utterly sick.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

“I have to go,” Merlin says, pulling away from their comfortable, shady spot in the back of the garden. His hand slides easily from Arthur’s grip.

“I’ve got another twenty minutes before I have to go back,” Arthur whines.

“You’ll find something to do. Something important and princely, I’m sure,” he replies.

“Where are you going?”

“Meeting Gwaine for coffee,” says Merlin. Arthur can’t help the twist in his gut. “He said he needed to talk about something.”

“Right,” he mutters.

“What are you going to do about your father?”

Arthur stands up and brushes the dirt off his trousers.

“If I see a window, I’ll bring it up,” he promises. “I’ll make one if I have to.”

“It’s too damn weird not to mention, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t really understand it.”

It’s more like he _does_ understand it, but he really doesn’t want to. When Arthur goes to breach the matter – which he knows he has to on the basis of being head of the DoME – no matter what his father tells him, Arthur has a strong feeling that he’s going to have to react _very_ carefully.

“I keep dropping these bombs on you,” Merlin says, his face falling a fraction. “I am sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, Merlin.”

Arthur catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns toward it, but there’s absolutely nothing there. The air runs cool over his skin.

“What?” he snaps when he sees Merlin watching with a half-frown on his stupid lips.

“You looked scared.”

“ _Scared?_ ”

“Yes! White and shaky, actually,” he says, half-frown evolving to full one.

“You’re imagining things, Merlin.”

“Or _you_ are. Or you’re not. You tell me.”

“It was the wind shaking a bush.”

There’s no breeze. Merlin takes it, thankfully.

“See you at five?” he asks. “If Gwaine doesn’t talk me to death, that is.”

Vivid images suddenly flood Arthur’s mind, images of Merlin and Gwaine in the coffee shop, heads bent close, both smiling and laughing – Merlin and Gwaine kissing, Merlin’s fingers tangled in Gwaine’s hair, Gwaine’s stupid grabby hands all over Merlin’s body – Merlin and Gwaine in Gwaine’s swanky club, going at it in one of the booths as Gwaine once bragged he’d done with a model.

“Arthur?”

They seem happy, in his head.

Arthur blinks at Merlin. He doesn’t look happy here – if anything, he looks confused. Arthur forces a smile.

“Later. Yes.”

“Right… I’m going now.”

Merlin keeps looking back over his shoulder as he crosses the garden, but Arthur barely sees him. He frowns. Arthur aims for a smile, but he knows it doesn’t really work. Merlin looks downright sad when he finally turns away and disappears into the palace.

Arthur bangs his head against the tree trunk beside him and groans, his skin still cool and tense with goose bumps.

\---

Arthur is _not_ in the best of spirits when he gets out of his first meeting of the afternoon. One brave (or idiotic) soul suggests they offer to meet with the leaders of the insurgents to organize a ceasefire, even a temporary one, to allow the rest of the civilians to get out of the Citadel or to move the fighting to open ground out of the city walls. It’s precisely what Arthur wants, and what the Mercians suggested when he met with them about the slayings by the border. They all but offered their men if Camelot can manage to get the fighting out of civilian areas. Uther, however, insisted that they had the situation under control and needed no such assistance.

He insists the same thing now.

“If in a week’s time things are not under control, I will consider making such an offer, but there is a plan in action that must be carried through to the end first,” Uther says, his voice ringing with crystal clarity through the massive Council Hall.

 _Do not inquire about the details until I disclose them_ is just as clear in his words.

He has a window now before he has to leave for the theater. Arthur isn’t sure whom to approach first: his father or Kay. He might not catch his father free again until tomorrow but the matter of Kay in Ealdor is probably an easier topic to breach.

After ten minutes of wandering through empty rooms, Arthur walks to his father’s main office, bypassing his secretary busily typing away on the computer, expecting to find the king in his personal study where he usually is after a meeting. However, the lush library overlooking the courtyard is empty. The decanter, however, is missing. Arthur frowns – then hones in on the clinking of expensive glass down the hall. Briskly and quietly Arthur follows the sound to Uther’s private meeting room. It’s where he spent hours briefing Arthur on how to do his job as Commissioner over the last week, and where he usually conducts private (off-record) meetings.

“I’m very pleased to hear this,” Uther says. He sounds like he’s actually smiling, which throws Arthur off. “Continue to have reports sent to me.”

“Yes, sire.”

 _Kay_.

“Ensure the situation continues to make the front half of national newspapers, radio stations, and TVs. I want everyone to know what Ealdor is like because of people with magic,” says Uther.

“I’ll call up my contacts,” Kay says.

Uther makes a pleased sound he only makes when he’s taken a drink of something truly good. Arthur hears him place the tumbler loudly on the long table. A chair slides and one of them rifles through papers.

“Where is the Vorten file?”

“Here,” Kay says. More papers move about.

“And you’re certain they’ve left?”

“They’re certainly not in Ealdor anymore,” says Kay.

“I want them found, the lot of them, but most importantly Hunith and Balinor,” Uther says. A chair squeaks. “Since everyone else on the list Arthur composed has been found and detained I want you to focus your efforts on finding them.”

Arthur bursts into the meeting room without so much as knocking.

“Arthur,” Uther says, his face flushed and marred by a wide smile. “This is a confidential meeting, but it seems that it’s time I fill you in on the whole story of what’s going on, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” replies Arthur. He sits opposite Kay, with his back to the window. Kay doesn’t look at him.

“You did truly excellent work on that list of potential insurgents,” Uther says.

“Thank you, father,” he says stiffly. He folds his hands to keep them from shaking visibly. “You mentioned Hunith Vorten – I only added her at the last second. I never thought she was actually a threat.”

“I knew the woman very well. She always sympathized with sorcerers,” Uther replies dismissively.

“So you haven’t found her?”

“No. She ought to have been in Ealdor with a man called Balinor.”

“I’ve seen his name,” Arthur frowns.

“He is the last dragonlord, and he is Vorten’s husband,” Uther says. “Balinor aided me in trapping the Great Dragon in the underground during the Purge, but he betrayed Camelot and he fled.”  

Arthur’s hands fall apart and curl into fists.

“You had all the dragonlords executed, and you knew he escaped, but you let him live?”

“It wasn’t worth the trouble at the time to continue hunting him. Our people tracked and followed them for years to keep them on their toes, but I called them off. They settled in a pisshole of a town called Ealdor,” Uther says. He pours another two fingers of scotch. “It’s swarming with sorcerers.”

“Things were quiet until relatively recently,” Kay cuts in. Uther nods.

“The Ealdor Mission,” Uther says, “is a task I assigned to Kay nearly two years ago. I needed someone on your level, Arthur, but I needed you working on the insurgents in Camelot. Ealdor had to be watched. It’s become a hotspot for dissenters and those who wish war and destruction upon our heads. The situation has only gotten worse in the last six months.”

“I know. Hate crimes left and right. Attacks from both sides. It’s hell out there,” Arthur says coolly.

“Precisely why I needed Kay watching it.”

“Why Ealdor? There are plenty of other places just as volatile,” Arthur asks.

“It used to be in Lot’s kingdom until the borders were renegotiated in the Thirty Year Treaty. Sorcerers are as abundant as rats there,” Uther says. “It’s close to the border. It’s where sorcerers stop on their way out of Camelot.”

“But _why choose Ealdor?_ ”

“Because of Vorten and Balinor! Arthur, I allowed them to escape, but I could _never_ let them fully out of my sight,” Uther says vehemently. “I’ve permitted them to live comfortably and freely, but now is the time to make use of them. An example needs to be made of the last dragonlord. It may be the only way to seal the fate of the war in our favor.”

“He’s surely long gone by now if Vorten’s left. They’re out of your reach.”

“I want him found!” Uther roars. “I’ve had men on the ground in Ealdor all this time. Someone will find them.”

“You’ve had men on the ground in Ealdor… for how long?” Arthur asks slowly, rising from his chair. Uther watches him with pure indifference.

“Ever since we got an anonymous tip of a sighting about twelve years ago,” he says. “They’re deep cover operatives.”

Arthur can barely school his face into equal indifference. He clasps his hands behind his back for good measure.

“Very long term.”

“Longitudinal missions.”

“Right,” Arthur mutters. “What does that mean?”

“We’ve kept tabs on them – on the whole town, in fact,” Uther replies proudly. He offers Arthur a light smile. “It’s quite a controlled situation, I assure you.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Arthur can feel his rationality slipping. He clutches the back of his chair tightly and steadies himself. Kay looks up from examining the patterns of the wood surface and says,

“It means everything that’s happening there is happening for a reason.”

“Out,” Uther says in a low voice. Kay hears danger and runs. The door rattles when it slams shut. Uther turns his full attention and budding wrath on Arthur.

They watch each other for a full ten minutes before someone breaks. In the end Arthur’s vey glad for those ten minutes.

“Out with it,” the king sighs. “I have another meeting at five.”

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” Arthur says carefully. “You have people undercover in Ealdor as regular people – perhaps even as moles in their Druid Group, too – essentially making sure everything that happens there is totally under your control.”

“Yes.”

“Why? I don’t bloody understand it!” Arthur exclaims. Uther rises, standing taller than Arthur now, a grin spreading as slowly as honey across his face.

“For this moment! Ealdor has always been our testing ground,” Uther says. “ _Everything_ that’s happened between us and them has been intentional.”

“Everything,” Arthur repeats. He feels dizzy when he puts two and two together. “The hate crimes. Were those your people?”

“Our people, Arthur,” Uther says coldly. “It’s all part of keeping a tight, _precise_ grip on the situation.”

“Do you know how many people have gotten hurt? How many people have been hospitalized or even killed because of this?”

“They were all sorcerers, Arthur! Not people – _sorcerers_. They’re evil, and they must be eradicated from my kingdom,” Uther declares.

“Not all of them! There were innocents, too!”

“It was a necessary cost for the goal we’ve worked so hard to reach.”

“That’s what it’s all been for?” he cries. Arthur sucks in a breath, trying to stay calm, but it only makes him more lightheaded.

“This is war. We have been at war for longer than you’ve been alive. There’s been a lull, but it’s come to an end. All this? It’s all been for this moment: they finally made their move, and we are more than ready for them.”

Arthur shakes his head. Uther’s smile falls instantly.

“I’ve done this to stay ahead of our enemies. It’s pure strategy. Surely they taught you this in the military.”

“Yes, but spies and moles are usually working on foreign soil, not in our own damn country!”

 _You betrayed your people_ , he desperately wants to say. _You betrayed_ me.

“It’s been more than worth it,” he says. “We’re already winning the war. We’re on track end this once and for all by the time Victory Week comes to an end.”

“All this time….”

“I always assured you I had matters under control, did I not?”

“I never imagined—”

“Imagine it,” Uther says calmly. “Accept it. Get used to it. This is the world of the Commissioner. It’s the job you wanted, after all.”

He nods numbly. His head pounds mercilessly, battered by how _wrong_ everything suddenly is.

“I see now that perhaps you’re not so well suited to it as I hoped,” Uther murmurs, his words thick with disappointment.

Arthur doesn’t respond; it’s not so hard to hold it in, all of a sudden. Desperate to escape, he makes for the door the moment Uther steps out of his way.

“Arthur,” he says. Arthur freezes, his sweating hand hovering over the slick doorknob. He sounds worryingly sober. “I worry that this has been too much for you to take in at once. This is very sensitive information and one slip can ruin over twenty-five years of painstaking planning and work. I trust you to be discrete, but should you lose control or find yourself too weak to keep the matter to yourself, know that certain charges can be easily arranged. For fraternizing with suspected insurgents and conspiring against the king….”

“Treason?” Arthur breathes. He rounds on Uther, reeling. Perhaps he heard wrong. If he hoped to find a sour joke on his father’s face, he’s utterly disappointed. He’s very serious.

Arthur turns the knob. The door clicks, and Uther speaks once more, a smile plain on his lips, even though Arthur can’t see him. He chuckles and says,

“And then there’s the matter of the boy in the show. _Their_ son. Imagine that.”

Arthur bolts from the meeting room, his stomach finally turning too violently to hold down. He ducks into the first toilet he can find and retches all over. By the time he’s done, he’s shaking too intensely to hold himself up. He slides to the floor, his whole body shaking vehemently. He runs a hand through his hair. It comes off dripping with sweat. Arthur wipes his palms on his vomit-spattered trousers.

He doesn’t have to think hard now to consider what Uther might do to him or Merlin – hell, anyone in the production – if Arthur sets even a hair out of line. The rooms are bugged. Uther has people inside every faction in Camelot.

Just like him. This is precisely what Arthur has been to Uther since he assigned him to the production – a mole, a spy behind enemy lines, only the lines are drawn by heavy red curtains and he has to sing and dance to keep his place.

He doesn’t even realize he’s started to cry until he drops his head to his knees where they’re drawn up under his chin and the fabric gets wet. He feels horrid and stupid, but he can’t damn stop it, not when he thinks about how _controlled_ the situation is. He punches the tile floor and sends a vicious shock straight to his elbow. Arthur gasps and cradles his arm to his chest, leaning heavily on the wall on his other side. He shuts his eyes.

A faucet starts to drip. Arthur takes it at his cue to get the hell out of there before one of the councilmembers walks in on him.

When he opens his eyes, he jumps, bangs his head against the sink, and crawls away from the boy with huge blue eyes, his skin sallow in most places, burned in others. The smell – _that_ vile, putrid smell that Arthur knows he and his team haven’t forgotten so quickly – floods his nostrils.

The boy walks up to Arthur. Arthur’s eyes go wide. He backs away until his back is so flat against the wall it hurts.

“I’m hallucinating,” he stammers.

He’d stared at the ten-year-old’s picture in the file for almost an hour while going through the casualties of the raid.

The boy slowly presses a finger to his lips. Arthur blinks and he’s gone. Instantly he’s ill on the floor all over again, his body feverish and trembling with renewed force.


	16. I'm Not That Girl (Reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm Not That Girl (Reprise)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0GACDHQLmc)

**Morgana**

 

“Morgana!” Mordred calls. She waves for him to follow her down the aisle as she strides with long steps. She grips the folder in her hand tightly to keep from shaking. “Morgana. I have news.”

She spins around and hauls him close.

“What is it?”

“Emrys is back. He’d been gone from Camelot for a while. I didn’t realize he was gone until I felt Emrys’s signature anew today,” he explains breathlessly.

“What?” Morgana hisses.

“It’s true.”

“You didn’t think to tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t know!” he says.

“What else, Mordred?” she asks, backing him up against the stage. He stumbles and grips the edges to stay upright.

“Emrys’s magic is changing. The signature is actively shifting,” Mordred says.

“How?”

“Emrys’s magic is getting stronger very quickly – I can’t imagine it’s pleasant for whoever they are.”

“What else? I need to know!” she snarls. She finds her hands on his throat.

“That’s it! There’s nothing else, I swear,” he gasps. “You’ll know as soon as anything develops.”

“I’d better,” she says. Finally Morgana steps back. Mordred balances himself and stands up straight. “Come. We’re going to talk with Nimueh.”

“She told Morgause this morning she won’t help us,” says Mordred.

“Perhaps we’ve changed her mind.”

“How?”

“We’re conducting a small experiment of sorts,” she says, yanking the trapdoor open. She waits for Mordred to descend before stalking through the rubble into the Underground. “Some new information has come up and we need to act fast.”

“What kind of information?”

Morgana’s nail bends backwards for how hard she’s gripping the folder in her hands. She shudders at the pain, which happily dulls the roiling fear in her gut. Inhaling stale air, she plows forward without answering Mordred.

_Emrys is on the rise._

A new plan starts to form, one that can salvage the desperate ruins of her great scheme. By the time she reaches Nimueh, she’s already begun to smile coyly and play the game she knows best with a clear direction in mind.

\---

Elena arrives at rehearsal about twenty minutes late in the middle of a run-through of _Wonderful_. Morgana trips over her words.

 _“It would be wonderful!_ ” Merlin sings. She doesn’t miss the confused frown on his face.

 _“Wonderful, wonderful—,”_ she joins in a second too late. The rest of the scene goes smoothly, their steps in the dance for once flawless. She watches Elena, standing awkwardly by Morgause, out of the corner of her eye the whole time. They barely cap off the song before Morgana’s jumping off the stage and pouncing on her.

“Where’s Arthur?” she demands.

“He asked me to come in today,” she replies. “He’s not feeling well.”

Morgana does her best not to react and ignores Morgause’s smirk as she studies her notepad.

“He couldn’t call?”

“No,” she says firmly. Elena looks at Morgana, daring her to ask more questions, but Morgana sees she won’t get any more out of her.

“Get up there,” she says with a slight shove. Elena nearly falls onto the row of seats to her right. She rights himself and marches like a soldier going to battle up the stairs, albeit a clumsy one.

“We’re on the next scene!” Morgause shouts. Everyone hurries to their positions. “Morgana, one more thing.”

Morgana bends over the desk to hear Morgause whisper,

“This is good news.”

“I’m worried,” Morgana says without thinking.

“About him? Or the production?”

“I’m concerned that something else happened,” she says coolly. “Arthur would suffer through anything rather than give up or call in sick. He never once missed a day of school.”

“So, what, you think there’s more to this than what we’re doing to him?”

“I don’t know, but I think it possible.”

“We’ll talk to Nimueh afterwards,” Morgause promises. “We know it’s working, and that means that we can try this great new plan of yours. Perhaps she can sense if there’s something more happening.”

“Perhaps,” she murmurs.

She straightens up and walks back to the stage. She doesn’t miss Merlin talking feverishly with Elena, or Gwaine watching them with poorly disguised curiosity.

The cages of prop monkeys are set up. She and Morgause haven’t yet enchanted the props to work without human assistance, but she knows it’ll be extraordinary when they do. Merlin is already at his mark, looking nervous and oddly angry.

“You haven’t heard from him, have you?”

“No,” she says softly. “Not since this morning.”

“He was fine at lunch.”

“Call him later. We need to start unless we want to be here all night.”

Merlin retreats, transitioning smoothly into character on Morgause’s cue. Morgana does her best, but she’s not on point today. She knows it and it shows. There are more important things on her mind.

_Arthur. Emrys. Nimueh. Our losing war._

A spark of magic flies free of her control. One of the stage lights bursts brilliantly, showering them all with sparks. The stage falls quiet, then erupts into whispers of _who did it_ , and _why_.

Only Merlin’s eyes find her. She looks away.

\---

Morgause is already briefing Nimueh on Arthur’s condition when Morgana arrives at the Underground. Mordred and Kara linger in a corner.

“That’s all well and good,” she says, her voice syrupy smooth, “but I don’t see how this helps you. I’m more than happy to torture the brat from afar.”

“Why don’t you run?” Morgana asks calmly. “You’re free now. You could destroy all of Camelot, or flee somewhere safe.”

“I _am_ safe here. I’m exactly where I want to be,” she replies. “If I wish to take down the city, I could do it. If I want to kill Uther, I can do it. From here, I can do whatever I want.”

“Only that’s not true, is it? You’ve been in cold iron bindings for over twenty years,” Morgana says. “To do any of that, you need us.”

“Hardly,” she says coldly. “I’m more powerful than all of you combined.”

“Think of how powerful we could be together,” Morgana insists. “Your magic alone wasn’t enough at the start of the Purge. Uther is more powerful than you can imagine now. We need to work together if we want to take him down.”

“I work alone, Pendragon,” she spits.

“I understand that. Perhaps, then, we can make a deal. You help us, we help you, and then we each do our part on our own to get what we all want.”

Nimueh pauses, looking carefully at Morgana where she sits on the filthy floor. She looks up at Morgause, Mordred, and Kara, all listening with equal amounts of curiosity.

“I think your priorities are changing,” Nimueh finally says. “What is it you want now?”

“I want to fix our mistakes. We were unaware of how prepared Uther was for our uprising,” she explains. “We sent fifty good people – our new Blood Guard – into Meleagant to gather information, but we didn’t know that Uther had the facility back to the state it was in during the Purge.”

A shadow crosses Nimueh’s face.

“I’ve seen the belly of Meleagant. It’s a disgusting place.”

“Uther has moles within the Druid Group, which is where much of our support outside the Blood Guard comes,” she continues. “He knew our plan to infiltrate Meleagant. He knew what we planned to do to start the uprising. He knew almost everything, which is how he’s stayed so far ahead of us.”

“Does he know we’ve opened the Underground?” Kara interrupts.

“No. This wasn’t disclosed beyond the few people who helped us take down the barriers, and many of them are dead now,” says Morgause.

“I’m not sure I understand what you want me to do, Pendragon. I am, as you said, weak,” Nimueh sighs loudly.

“Not weak enough to plague my brother from afar,” Morgana counters.

“That’s child’s play,” she scoffs. “I don’t need real power to do that.”

“Would you like to hear my proposition?” Morgana asks. Nimueh waits, as do the others. “We need to weaken Uther as much as possible. We need to bring him to his knees in order to rip the crown from his head. Isn’t that what you what?”

“It may be,” she says warily.

“How do you think is the best way to do that?”

Morgause pushes off the wall.

“We take what he values and needs most in this world,” she says, “other than his crown.”

Nimueh looks between them, a smile forming slowly on her dark red lips.

“You mean to kill the prince,” she says.

“More than that. I mean to drive him mad and make it look as bad for Uther as possible,” Morgana says. “When he dies, it will look like it was for us, that he abandoned his father for the people he so desperately hates once and for all. Arthur’s known to be a bit of a sympathizer. He’s tried time and time again to get our legal rights on par with regular citizens. Desertion wouldn’t be hard to believe, but it’d be catastrophic for Uther in every way.”

“But his death?”

“That’s due to the madness. The madness will drive him to leave, and the madness will lead him to suicide,” Morgana explains. “Only, it won’t be. We will take our revenge on him.”

“He is not meant to die at my hand,” Nimueh says after a brief pause.

“Who, then?”

Nimueh scans the room, pausing a few times, but she eventually shakes her head.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “The magic of the land is changing. What I knew to be true may not be so anymore.”

“Help us destroy Arthur, and we’ll help you destroy Uther,” Morgana says.

“That’s quite the offer, Pendragon. Would you so readily murder your kin?”

“They’re not my kin,” she spits. “Gorlois was my father. Uther slept with my mother and she bore me.”

“I remember now,” she says, smiling widely. “It was quite the court scandal.”

“He is not my father.”

“You’re more like him than you realize, Pendragon,” Nimueh says thoughtfully. “I am glad you are one of us, then. I’m willing to guess he doesn’t know of your true allegiance?”

“At this point, I don’t know,” she admits. “That’s why we need to act fast, before our luck runs out.”

Nimueh’s eyes glint with excitement. She looks past Morgana and her lips curl into a smile.

“This one doubts you, Morgana. What is your name, boy?”

“Mordred,” he breathes. Morgana twists around.

“What’s wrong now?” she demands.

“Arthur is a good man,” he says, his voice quavering. “I don’t think killing him is the way to go.”

“It is. It will strike the greatest blow to Uther’s core,” Morgause says.

“But Arthur doesn’t deserve this. He’s only wanted to make life for our kind better in Camelot. There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t. He’s a Pendragon,” Kara says. She touches his shoulder, but he shrugs her off, which only angers her further. “You saw how he took out all our friends at the factory raid! He allowed so many of our kind to die that night. Whatever good you think he might do? It doesn’t fucking matter, not in the face of the horrors he’s committed. He is just like his father. He’s proven it. He’ll get what he deserves now.”

“Well said,” Nimueh says, smiling again.

“I don’t agree,” Mordred says.

“We can’t get what we want unless one of us is on Camelot’s throne,” Kara sighs. “No matter what he thinks he can do, the government is full of Uther’s people. He can’t succeed unless Uther’s gone either.”

Mordred looks to Morgana, though she’s not sure what he hoped to find there. She stands up.

“Only when I’m queen will we be safe and free, Mordred,” she says softly. “Trust me.”

“I don’t want to see him dead.”

“It’s the only way.”

“And Emrys? What of him and the prophecies of what he’ll do? They hold firm as ever,” he asks icily. Morgana feels a trill of anger. Morgause looks sharply at them.

“He is a myth.”

“I can feel his presence in Camelot as we speak,” he murmurs. “He’s very real.”

“Real or not, he’s not going to save us, and neither is Arthur. We have to save ourselves,” says Morgana firmly. “You need to trust us. Trust your kin. We want what’s best for us all.”

“You speak as if Emrys isn’t one of us! He—”

“He isn’t our concern,” Morgause cuts him off. “If he does exist, is he strong enough to rival us?”

“Not yet, but—”

“Could he do what the prophecies say right now?”

“Not—”

“They we can’t waste time deferring to a fairy tale. We need to act soon.”

“I agree,” Nimueh says. She starts to move, pushing off the ground until she’s upright. Her dress falls in tatters over her. The room chills several degrees when she speaks. “Let’s begin.”

She holds out her hands. Morgana takes one and Morgause takes the other. They lead her out of the room and into the main passage of the underground. Nimueh breathes in deeply.

“Go further in. There is a place of power from where I can work.”

“Find it,” she says. Kara and Mordred leave.

“Go with them,” Nimueh says to Morgause. “They’ll need more power than they have to unlock the door.”

When Morgause is gone, Nimueh says to her,

“If Emrys is out there and you attempt to kill the prince, you’ll certainly draw him out, no matter how powerful he is,” she says.

“How can you be sure?”

“I know,” she says simply. “I just do.”

“Would he be able to stop us?”

“Perhaps,” Nimueh says. “But perhaps not. Is this how you hope to eliminate Emrys as a threat?”

Morgana looks sharply at her.

“I sensed your priorities were changing, did I not? Besides, what better way to kill two birds with one stone than good old fratricide?”

A door opens loudly down the way.

“I think they’ve got it,” Morgana says.

“Let’s go. There’s no time to waste now,” Nimueh says, chuckling as they start to walk again.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

“Go talk to her,” Merlin says to Gwaine as everyone prepares to leave the theater for the night.

“Nah.”

“Seriously? You went on about her for a whole hour at lunch!”

 _Among other things_ , he thinks, but he’s definitely not mentioning that now.

“Let’s not shout that to the whole company, eh, Merlin?”

“I’ll do it if you don’t go over there,” he says. Gwaine opens his mouth to respond, but he’s saved the trouble. Elena walks over to them.

“Boys,” she smiles. “Merlin, can I have a word before you go?”

“Sure.”

Merlin keeps an eye on Gwaine to be sure he doesn’t leave as he and Elena step aside.

“Arthur told me to give you this address,” she says, pressing a scrap of paper into his hand. “He wants you to see him tomorrow during your lunch break if you can.”

“Not sooner?”

“He’s… really not feeling well. He said he had some things to take care of tonight.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Take care, Merlin,” she says, sounding oddly sad. Merlin grabs her wrist and stops her.

“Go talk to Gwaine.”

“No way.”

“Don’t be daft,” he scowls. He struggles to find the right words. “Trust me, Elena. You should go talk to him now. Like, right now.”

“Right now?” she says with a tiny frown.

“Yes,” he says fervently. “Go!”

He pushes her lightly toward Gwaine, who’s waiting a few feet away. Merlin hops off the stage and makes for the exit. He unfolds the scrap. He doesn’t know the address, only that it’s somewhere within the Citadel. Merlin’s half-tempted to go there now, but he can’t do that to Arthur. Whatever’s going on, he doesn’t want to be bothered now. Or maybe he can’t be.

Merlin pockets the scrap and heads up to Gwen’s flat for the first time since before he left Camelot. She lets out a squeal of shock and nearly suffocates him with a hug. Gwen immediately forces tea and cookies on him, which he very happily accepts.

“Lance is on his way home now, and Gwaine’s bringing Will over in a little bit,” Gwen says, wiping stray tears out of her eyes. It was a rather wet hug. “He said it’s important.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says. “I mean, that’s what he told me.”

“He’s told you more, hasn’t he?” Gwen says, eyes narrowing.

“Maybe,” Merlin says through a mouthful of food. “Damn it, Gwen.”

“Spit it out. Not the food, of course.”

“He wants to get out of Camelot,” Merlin says. “He told me there’s a big story behind it, but he’ll tell it tonight.”

“So… why did he tell you this?”

“Druid group’s the only way out, and seeing as Will’s one of their runners….”

“He was asking if you were okay with it,” Gwen realizes. Her face falls instantly. “Oh, Merlin. You said yes?”

“What could I say? No, stay in this shithole where you’re obviously miserable and we’re all in constant danger? This is the job Will wanted anyway. He was bound to get an assignment sooner or later,” Merlin says.

Gwen takes his hand and squeezes.

“It’s all right. To be worried, I mean.”

“I know,” he sighs. “Worrying’s all I’ve been doing lately.”

“Haven’t we all?”

“Yeah.”

The door opens and Lance strides through. There’s blood on his uniform, but he looks unharmed. Gwen tackles him and kisses him fiercely. Merlin focuses on his tea, until Lance virtually picks him up off the couch and pulls him into a hug.

“It’s good to see you, Merlin,” he says as he crushes his bones.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

“Good to see you, too,” Merlin wheezes.

“You should’ve called us when you were back,” Lance says. “We were scared for you!”

“It’s… a really long story,” he exhales.

“We’ve got time.”

“The lines are being tapped, by the way. The rooms at the palace and government agencies are bugged, too.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell us, Merlin. We’re not letting you off the hook,” Gwen interrupts. She rips the cookie from his hand and drags the tea away. “Now.”

It doesn’t end up being too long a story. He does his best to glaze over the gruesome parts – the people he killed at the border, primarily – but Gwen and Lance are smart. They see exactly what happened. When he finishes, they ask questions, but they don’t ask about that. They probably see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands shake when he brings his teacup to his lips.

“I am sorry I didn’t call,” he says.

“We see why,” Gwen says gently.

“I’d have driven out to find you,” Lance says.

“Disappearing from your government job wouldn’t have been a great idea, Lance,” Merlin says pointedly. Lance still shakes his head.

“That’s not the point, Merlin.”

Merlin drains his tea. He can’t stand their sad looks any longer. Luckily, Gwaine and Will arrive less than a minute later.

“I take it Merlin’s already told you why we’re here,” he says, sitting on Merlin’s left. Will sprawls on Merlin’s right, one leg slung over the arm of the couch.

“You’re getting ready to leave,” Gwen says.

“Yep. I’ve told the Druid group already. They’ve put Will and a few others on my case,” he says.

“You’re sure you want to do this? The perimeter’s totally militarized,” Lance says. “They’re on high alert at all hours of the day.”

“I don’t supposed you can give us a few tips on how to get through, could you, Lance?” Gwaine asks with a half-smile. Lance shakes his head.

“I’ve looked for holes in the system, but the design’s pretty flawless. Uther’s had many years to perfect it.”

Will grabs Merlin’s hand, which he realizes belatedly he’s turned into a white-knuckled fist. Merlin slides out of his grip and crosses his arms.

“Shame,” Gwaine says. He stretches and drapes an arm over Merlin’s shoulder. “I figured before I go I should tell someone my story. The princess needs to hear it, too, but seeing as he’s out sick, Merlin’ll have to pass the message on. Basically, I should’ve left ages ago. Had the chance, too, but I got into some shit I didn’t realize would tie me up so tightly.”

“But… didn’t Uther banish you?”

“Sort of. Kicked me out of the palace, put me on their no-fly list, the works, but I stayed in the Citadel,” Gwaine says. “Took me ages, but I’ve finally worked out what happened.”

Gwaine pauses, looking around, as though to make sure he’s got everyone on the edges of their seats.

“See, our Morgana is a very clever woman,” he starts. Merlin can already tell this isn’t going to go anywhere good. “She does this thing where she helps people out who haven’t got any options left and gets them in her debt. She pulls in a favor, and you think you’re done, but she’s got her claws in you. Even after you’ve paid her back you can’t get out. Well, I want out.”

“What happened?” Gwen asks.

“I was broke. I was fighting on the streets for my dinner when she picked me up off the curb one day. She cleaned me up a bit, being a _charitable_ princess, and eventually my path crossed Arthur’s. We had our thing. We got caught, and I was banished from their world. But, see, I’ve figured it out – Morgana was the one who suggested we stay in the palace because Uther would be out that night, and then she was the only one around when Uther caught us.”

“She set you up,” Merlin realizes. His stomach turns; Gwaine’s situation sounds all too familiar to the day Uther nearly walked in on him and Arthur.

“Yeah. She’s a snake, that one.”

“And then she helped you out of the gutter again and got you in her debt,” Lance says.

“Exactly. She helped me set up my club and gave me the money for the first few payments, just like she said she would when I first met her. Things took off. I could’ve paid her back ten times over by now.”

“So… what was the favor?” Merlin asks. Gwaine laughs to himself.

“She called me in to be Fiyero and get between Arthur and you. She wanted him distracted while she did whatever she’s really doing at the theater. If she seriously thought that was going to work—”

Suddenly, all of Gwaine’s flirty behavior, really only when Morgana was around, makes perfect sense.

“I understand,” he says. “She sent you to keep Arthur out of her way, but you’ve been keeping her off our case, too.”

“Look, I got into this because she made me, but I stayed and kept the act up for you and Arthur,” Gwaine says. “Seems like I can’t be much help anymore. After the rioting started… well, whatever’s really going on in that theater of hers seems a hell of a lot bigger than whatever it was before. And once this play starts flying… I get the feeling shit will hit the fan before the end of opening night. I figure this is my chance to get out, so I’m taking it.”

“And there might be better ways to help from outside of Camelot now,” Will adds. “The Druid group’s sending him with some info out to some top-secret place just outside the perimeter.”

“That definitely can’t be safe.”

“We’ll be with him all the way there,” Will says lightly. “We’ve got this covered, Merls.”

“Will—”

“Oh, keep your pants on, would you? We’re going to be just fine.”

They fall silent. Lance mentions warming up dinner, and Gwen follows him to help.

“Thanks for telling Elena to talk to me,” Gwaine says. “I honestly don’t think I’d have done it otherwise and I’d have regretted it.”

“I figured, if you’re leaving….”

“Thanks.”

“Did you sort things out?”

“Sort of,” Gwaine says. “I’m a bit bummed, to be honest. I really like her.”

“She’ll still be here when things calm down.”

“I dunno, Merlin. She was talking about getting out, too. Her parents are pretty pro-Uther and she doesn’t want anything to do with it.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Y’know, from what Elena told me, Arthur’s pretty fucked up right now,” he says. Merlin starts, not expecting to hear anything about Arthur at this point. “Hell, he’s been off since the raid. Whatever’s going on inside that head of his can’t be good.”

“Not that you’re looking so good either, mate,” he adds. “Sit down for some couples therapy.”

“You mean vodka shots,” Will cuts in.

“Right,” Gwaine grins.

Merlin goes to the kitchen before they can piss him off properly. Gwen and Lance have it under control, so Merlin goes out to the balcony and sits on the floor to stare out through the bars. His magic prickles, like a muscle, tense and overstretched; the tips of his fingers feel numb. There’s too much going on in his head – Arthur, Will and Gwaine, his father and the people he murdered at the border, Morgana and her people – it’s too much.

The lamp across the street bursts and showers the sidewalk in sparks. Merlin shuts his eyes and presses his face against the cool metal of the bars.

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

It’s late by the time everyone leaves. Lance cleans up the beer bottles on the coffee table while Gwen wipes down the kitchen counter. Her phone is in her pocket, heavy and persistent.

“Lance,” Gwen says. “I can’t stay in here forever.”

Lance looks at her, surprised, then soft.

“I know,” he replies. Lance sits on the couch and pats the space next to him. Gwen sits and opens her own bottle of beer.

“It’s been two days since they’ve been out there,” says Gwen. “I’m not saying it’s safe. I don’t think it’s safe at all. But I’m confused and I want answers.”

“I do too, but I don’t know what we can do. I found out everything I could at the DoME,” Lance says, shaking his head. “Do you feel ready to go back to the shop?”

“I do, but you know the neighborhood got trashed. I don’t know what I’ll find and… I can’t bear the thought of seeing it like that,” Gwen sighs.

“Then what do you want to do?”

“I want to talk to my dad,” she admits. “I want to ask him what the hell he was thinking and why he got involved with the Blood Guard.”

“Gwen,” he says softly.

“I know. I think… the next best thing is to ask Morgana for help.”

“Morgana?” Lance exclaims. “Gwen—she’s their leader, right? Isn’t that what you heard her and Morgause say?”

“Yes, but—”

“The Blood Guard wants you to help _them_ protect _Morgana_.”

“She can call them off! She’s their leader. She’s the bloody princess, to boot!” Gwen shouts. “I don’t know what else to do, Lance! I can’t sit here and do nothing, but I won’t give in to them, and I won’t stay in here forever.”

“Then let’s leave.”

“What?”

“Let’s leave Camelot,” Lance says. He takes her hands and says, “Look at me. John and Mary got out. There are true druids who’d take us in and help us get far enough away. Then we can get to Mercia—maybe we can find Merlin’s mother and stay with her. She’s alone out there. Or we can help people cross the border. There’s so much more we can do outside of Camelot!”

“Lance—that’s insane. We can’t just leave!”

“Why not?”

“You work for the DoME! They need you! People with magic need your department to help them.”

“Gwen… there’s so little we can do while Uther’s the king,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Arthur must see it by now too. Uther won’t change his mind about sorcerers. He wants them dead and gone and he has the power to make it happen.”

“Then we stay for them. For sorcerers like Merlin. If they can’t leave, we shouldn’t either, just because we were born lucky and the government isn’t watching us.”

Gwen stands, rolling her beer bottle between her palms.

“I don’t know what to do, but I don’t want to leave. Not yet.”

“Let’s at least make a plan, in case it comes to it,” he begs.

Gwen hesitates. “All right.”

\---

Lance goes to bed not long after they finish their beers and their plans. Gwen pads out of the bedroom to the balcony. The sky is still smoky and dull from the riot fires, but the air is cool and clean. Gwen sits on the chair out there and finds Morgana’s name in her cell phone.

“Hello?”

“Did I wake you?” Gwen asks.

“No. I’ve been having trouble sleeping,” Morgana says. “Is something wrong?”

Gwen says nothing for just long enough.

“Gwen. What’s happened?”

“I need your help, Morgana. Can we meet?”

“When? Now?”

“It can wait until tomorrow.”

“I can be at yours in twenty minutes. We can go in the theater to talk.”

“Morgana, I can’t ask you to come all the way—”

“See you soon.”

She hangs up. Gwen stares at her phone wondering if she’s made a terrible mistake.

\---

Morgana arrives fifteen minutes later. Gwen is sitting on her stoop with two more beers and some cookies she baked yesterday. She follows Morgana down into the theater where it’s cool and dark. They sit at the directorial desk and open the beers. Morgana sips it and looks surprised.

“You know, I’m not much of a beer person, but I really like this one,” she says.

“It’s a local brewery,” says Gwen. “Lance really likes them too.”

“I’ll remember that,” she says, pausing to eat a cookie. “So. What’s going on?”

“It’s… complicated. You have to promise not to freak out.”

“All right, try me,” she says with a laugh.

“I know you and Morgause are involved with the insurgents,” Gwen says. “I’ve told no one, I swear! I just—I heard you talking one day and I’ve kept it to myself.”

Morgana says nothing.

“King’s Men came for me a week ago when I was helping host a dialogue between some business owners and Druid groups,” Gwen says.

“What? Why?” Morgana bursts.

“They think my father was involved during the Great Purge,” she replies. “I didn’t believe it. Arthur helped me get out without a problem. But… I don’t know. Maybe word got around to them that I’ve been helping sorcerers. I don’t regret it one bit, of course. I’d do it all again. But these people have been watching my house. The day everyone had to leave the theater, I found a message on my door.”

“What kind of message?” Morgana asks. “Tell me everything.”

Gwen hands her the papers she found pinned to the door that day. Morgana looks them over, her motions increasingly furtive.

“They put it there with the knife my father had sold the Blood Guard, too. I have it in my room, but Lance was sleeping and I didn’t want to risk waking him.”

“Gwen… you should have come to me sooner,” Morgana says, looking up at her.

“Do you know what they want?”

“I don’t,” Morgana says, shaking her head. “I don’t know anything about this Blood Guard.”

 _Lies_ , Gwen thinks with a twist in her gut.

“Is there anything you can do?”

“I… I’ll look into it,” says Morgana. “I swear it.”

“Thank you,” she exhales. “Truly. You don’t know how much better that makes me feel.”

“No, Gwen. Thank you for trusting me with this. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can,” she says. Gwen takes her hand and squeezes it. Morgana reacts visibly, her eyes widening, cheeks turning pink.

“I trust you with this, Morgana,” she says softly. “I know you’ll keep me safe. And know that you can trust me, too. I know you have Morgause, but—”

“No,” she says abruptly. “There is something. Can we… can I tell you about it?”

“What is it?”

“The plans we had… they’re falling apart. People are getting hurt where they didn’t need to,” says Morgana, looking away. “I know now what happened and… it’s my fault. I should have seen it. I should’ve known.”

“Morgana… whatever it is that happened, you can’t control every part,” says Gwen. “You’re not the only player here. Other people have other plans.”

“People died, Gwen, on _my_ account.”

Gwen says nothing.

“They were willing to go to prison for the cause. They never signed up to die. That was never the plan,” she says, shutting her eyes. Morgana’s eyelashes are wet with unshed tears. “There’s a person out there. If he’s real, he’ll be the reason we all die and lose everything we’ve fought for. All those people who died—it’ll be for nothing.”

“Who is he?”

“They call him Emrys,” Morgana says. “Morgause says he’s a druid legend, but I know he’s not just that. My sources are extraordinarily reliable.”

Gwen doesn’t know what she means by that, but whatever her source is, Morgana is truly convinced by it.

“Is this person dangerous?”

“Incredibly.”

“A powerful sorcerer?”

“The most powerful ever, they say.”

“Oh, wow.”

“It’s bad news for what we’re doing, Gwen,” she snaps. “Emrys is destined to keep a Uther’s tyranny going. If he’s truly a player here, we’re going to lose. People with magic will be damned forever. He needs to be stopped. Killed. Death is the only way.”

“Morgana… that’s rather extreme.”

“You think you know what extreme is? Do you know what this movement’s done? We’ve made real sacrifices here and some of them have been extreme,” Morgana says. “This is the only solution. Emrys has to die.”

“All right,” Gwen says. Morgana has a wild glint in her eyes. Something about her countenance shifted when Emrys came into the conversation: her hair seemed to grow wild and coarse, her skin grew paler, her lips became cracked and dry. Her hands shake with—what is it really? Fear? Energy? Anger?

_Madness?_

“Don’t you see, Gwen? Emrys will destroy us all and take any hope Camelot has with him,” says Morgana, leaning in. There’s an undeniably mad sheen on her eyes now.

“I understand,” Gwen replies. “I do. Emrys is bad news.”

“I’ll keep us all safe. You must know that,” Morgana says. “I know this situation better than anyone.”

“You’re right Morgana. I know it’s true,” she says gently. “Let’s not talk about Emrys anymore. Tell me what else is happening in your life. You said you haven’t been sleeping.”

“It’s my magic. Like in uni,” she says. “But this time there’s a reason for it.”

“Ah.”

“The sooner Emrys is dead, the sooner there’ll be peace,” Morgana murmurs, “and then I can sleep.”

Gwen nods and takes a long drink from her beer. Morgana fiddles with the wrapper on her bottle and doesn’t touch it the rest of the night.

When Gwen finally goes up to her flat she doesn’t feel any better than before about the Blood Guard hounding her, but she’s excited for another reason. Morgana opened up to her, and she sees an opportunity in this. With a little time, Gwen knows she can make something of it. She’s found her reason to stay in Camelot, even if just for a little longer.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

His hands shake so hard he misses the doorknob a few times. Arthur steels himself and grabs it with vicious force, shoving the door to the DoME open. He pulls his coat close to his body, even though the walls drip with condensation and the air is thick with humidity. He doesn’t even look at the secretary when he goes in. Commotion on the floor halts. His old colleagues attack him, greeting and congratulating him, but he doesn’t hear any of it.

“Someone called me down,” he finally says.

Kay parts the crowd.

“We just needed you take the last of your things out of your office,” Kay says, taking Arthur by the shoulders and leading him down a familiar path. “We’ve got it all in a box for you.”

“Oh. Thanks, I suppose,” he mutters. Kay puts the box in his arms. It’s so heavy, even though there are just a few books and papers and figurines in it. He wants to toss it all in a bin, really.

Kay’s already sitting at his desk, tapping away at the computer, when Arthur looks up from the box. Arthur shifts his weight and leaves the office. Leon’s waiting just outside.

“Arthur. Are you—?”

“I’m fine, Leon,” he grits out.

“I’ll walk with you,” he says. He follows Arthur closely out the door. He takes the box from Arthur when they’re on the steps. Arthur gasps in relief.

“There’s something wrong with me,” he rasps. “I don’t – I don’t know what it is.”

“It’s fine. Look, let me go clock out and we’ll go grab a bite,” Leon says, hurriedly dropping Arthur’s things in the trunk of his car. “Just get in and wait up.”

Arthur nods, too tired to fight him on it.

When Leon returns, they go to a pub far from government buildings. They settle in a corner booth and angle away from the crowds.

Everything he’s learned in the last day or so comes tumbling out like vomit. He can’t stop it. He feels ill as he speaks, but once it’s all been said, he feels a little lighter – but only a little.

Leon is floored.

“I don’t know what I can do. If Kay’s as close to Uther as you say, I can’t do a damn thing.”

“I had to tell someone who had some authority,” Arthur says after taking a swig of his beer. It tastes vile in his dry mouth. “The only other person who knows any of this is Merlin, and he’s a civilian.”

“Your father’s blackmailing you, threatening you with treason. That must be illegal,” Leon says, shaking his head. “Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, but what can the law do for us when he’s got the final say? It’s all a ruse, Leon,” Arthur says morosely. “Uther has the whole situation under his thumb as well as everyone who works for him.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur.”

“I am, too. Seems like everyone was right about him.”

Leon nudges the beer closer to Arthur but he shakes his head. He eats another chip or two before giving up.

“I don’t know what to do. I hate it,” Arthur admits.

“Talk to Merlin. He seems… good for you.”

“I don’t want to get him killed, Leon. I don’t know what my father will do next and it’s bloody terrifying.”

They don’t say much after that. Leon gets Arthur’s food wrapped up and leads him out to the car. Arthur slides into the driver’s seat. He reaches up to adjust his mirror.

The boy is there in his car, making the whole space smell like burnt flesh. He smiles at Arthur.

He doesn’t know how he gets home, only that Leon gets him into bed and forces a few pills into him once they’re there. He’s mercifully drowsy a few minutes later. Leon looks terribly relieved when he places a fresh glass of water on his nightstand.

“You need sleep, Arthur. I’ll call in sick for you tomorrow at work,” he says, sounding terribly distant to Arthur. “I’ll give Merlin a call, too.”

“Don’t let him get hurt,” Arthur murmurs, though it comes out more like, “Donnlurrt.”

Leon shuts the door behind him, and the boy is sitting in the corner of his room. Arthur rolls over and squeezes his eyes shut, listening to his racing heart as he waits for the pills to take him under.


	17. As Long As You're Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [As Long As You're Mine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhpvB2ZF1PA)

**Merlin**

 

Merlin wakes breathing harshly and kicking the covers off the couch. He gulps in tepid air and looks around. The clock reads… well, five minutes before his alarm is supposed to go off. Merlin hobbles to the chairs by the window and pushes it open, allowing the slightly less tepid morning air to cool the sweat on his face.

He dreamed he killed everyone in the cast in a blast of wild magic. He brought the building down with him, too. He can still feel the fury in his gut that’d triggered the magic in his dream. He hasn’t got a clue why he was so upset, though.

He shuts his eyes and presses his forehead against the cool glass. It makes him shiver, which only makes his stomach feel worse. He forces himself into the kitchen and starts making some herbal tea instead. Magic crackles on his skin as he turns the burner on the stove on, even when he touches the tin of tea packets.

Desperate, he covers his hands in kitchen rags.

“Merlin? What on earth are you doing?” Gaius asks. Merlin almost drops the kettle; the rags don’t provide the best grip on the handle.

“Er. Tea?”

“I meant with _those_.”

“Oh. My magic is a bit touchy today. I thought it might help.”

“Is it helping?”

“Not really,” Merlin admits. The light over the stove flickers and shuts off. Merlin looks at Gaius apologetically. “I don’t know what it’s doing.”

“It’s changing,” he sighs. He eases into a chair at the tiny kitchen table. “I’ll advise you to be very careful in the coming days. Try not to get too upset over anything if you can help it.”

“I’ll try,” he says. Gaius clearly hears him saying he can’t make any promises. He accepts his cup of tea with another deep sigh.

\---

Merlin stops by Gwaine’s on his way to the address Arthur gave him.

“Is Will here?” he asks.

“He just left,” says Gwaine. “Sorry mate. They’ll have him at the Druid Group ‘til we leave tonight.”

“Tonight? That’s so soon!” he says, feeling dizzy all of a sudden.

“Better sooner than later. Less time for someone to catch on, you know?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says. He looks around the messy flat, strangely hoping he’ll see something of Will’s, but nothing catches his eye. Merlin sighs. “I just… tell him I stopped by, will you?”

“Definitely. Isn’t the Princess waiting for you now?” Gwaine adds.

“Shut it.”

In spite of the heat, Merlin virtually runs to Arthur’s. His magic pounds like an extra heartbeat in his chest as he goes, racing faster with every step. On Arthur’s doorstep he finally stops, raising a weak hand to knock. Merlin promptly drops down on the dusty stoop and tries to catch his breath and let the magic settle, leaning against the pot of dead plants beside him.

Even when it does settle Arthur hasn’t answered the door yet. Merlin knocks again.

“Arthur? It’s me, Merlin. You told me to come here, so let me in, you prat!”

Merlin waits and waits. He looks at his watch. His break is almost over.

The door opens just as Merlin picks himself off the step. He turns around and finds Arthur with water dripping off his head down his neck, his shirt sticking to his very much still wet chest, and a towel in hand.

“I was in the shower,” he says with a slight scowl.

“You told me to come now,” Merlin blinks.

“Oh, fine. Come in, but you need to leave soon.”

“What? Why?”

Arthur shuts the door behind him and locks several locks. All the blinds and curtains are drawn; there isn’t a single light on. It looks like it’d be a really lovely house, but Merlin can hardly see where he’s going. Arthur comes up beside him, grabs his hand, and leads through to the back. The kitchen, at least, has a little bit of natural light streaming through the translucent curtains.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Arthur says, as though it explains everything about how bloody bizarre the place is.

“Right… so why are you here?”

“Didn’t want to go back. Needed a day off. The palace is bugged. Take your pick,” he grunts.

He opens a cabinet and rifles through until he finds a box. He empties its contents into a pan and turns on the stove.

“What happened?” Merlin asks after a while. His tongue feels molasses-slow. It’s essentially Arthur’s fault.

He can’t take his eyes off him, whose shirt still clings to him for dear life, perfectly outlining the width of his shoulders down to the narrowness of his hips and the slopes of the muscles on his back. The low-slung track pants are a completely different story. It makes Merlin’s mouth water and his mind run to far-off places that are totally inappropriate right now. Really. Completely inappropriate, no matter how utterly _fuckable_ Arthur looks.

“Are you even listening?”

“What?” He feels his face turn violently red.

“That’s a no,” Arthur says. He sighs impatiently. “Look, Merlin, I get you’re worried but it’s really not necessary.”

“Not necessary? You look like absolute crap!” he sputters.

“Thanks,” he says flatly.

“You’ve been off ever since that damned raid.”

“We’re not doing this, Merlin.”

“Why not? You should! You need to tell someone why you’re not sleeping!”

“What about you?” he demands, turning around sharply. “You talked in your sleep that night when you turned up at Gaius’s. You’re hardly peaches and rainbows up here either,” he says, tapping the side of Merlin’s head.

“Fine. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Merlin states, rising up to full height, standing close enough to feel the heat on Arthur’s body. He raises one eyebrow.

“No, Merlin,” he says finally.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because I’m fine!”

“You’re lying to yourself, for fuck’s sake!”

“I am handling this,” he says. He takes a step, forcing Merlin to fall back into the chair again. “I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do!” Merlin insists. “Please, Arthur. Whatever it is… you know you can trust me, right?”

Arthur doesn’t respond immediately.

“You shouldn’t even question it,” Merlin says.

“It’s not that.”

Arthur shakes his head. He walks back to the stove. Merlin lets out a breath, then follows him to the counter. Arthur’s hand shakes as he mixes the contents of the pan. Merlin reaches to help, but his shaking isn’t any better. Merlin sighs.

“You’re the one who asked me to come,” he says quietly.

“Yes, well, that was a mistake.”

Merlin stares. Arthur focuses on the food on the stove. Eventually, Merlin gives in. He steps back, feeling a shroud of sadness settle on his shoulders. Arthur’s stance sags a little.

“I’ll go, then?”

After a pause he says,

“See you tonight.”

“Okay… bye, Arthur.”

Merlin lets himself out of the house, tripping over a coffee table and nearly shattering it on the way. Outside, he finds the daylight harsh.

\---

Gwaine drives Merlin to rehearsal.

“I’m gonna ditch my car out there tonight anyway,” he shrugs. Merlin doesn’t respond. “I take it things didn’t go so well with Arthur. Was it a lovers’ spat?”

“We’re not lovers,” Merlin says absently.

“That’s not really what I was getting at, my friend.”

Merlin glares at him.

“He’s angsting like a fifteen-year-old. Whatever it is that’s got him so worked up, he’s being a dumbass about it,” Merlin grumbles. “I got a call from someone he knew at the DoME today.”

Unfortunately Leon caught him after Merlin went to see Arthur and he wasn’t at all in the mood to talk about him.

“What’d he want from you?”

“To help Arthur,” Merlin says, “and I told him Arthur wouldn’t even let me stay in his house longer than ten minutes.”

“Bastard,” Gwaine says, wrinkling his nose. He takes a turn sharply. “Doesn’t sound like Arthur’s friends would call you up if it weren’t serious, though.”

“No,” Merlin admits. “I just wish Arthur would talk to me.”

Gwaine parks his car across from the Repertory. He turns to face Merlin.

“Look, mate, I get where you’re coming from, but you and Arthur? You’re two of the same right now. You think you look any better than him, faking your way through? Whatever the fuck happened when you left town has left you just as traumatized as him.”

“Gwaine….”

“You think he’s gonna want to talk to you about it when you won’t even admit there’s something up with you, too?”

“It’s not that simple,” Merlin says, his voice failing him. “It’s different.”

“Is it? He led a raid and a lot more people got hurt than he wanted, and the rest went off to prison. You lost your dad and had to walk back from the border. From what I hear, you got fucking _shot_ , and by the look on your face there’s more that I don’t know,” Gwaine says. Merlin’s mouth snaps shut. “Take my advice, Merlin. Get your head out of your ass and maybe then you can get Arthur to do the same.”

“I… Gwaine, I can’t talk about it.”

“Don’t talk to me or Lance or Gwen. Talk to Arthur.”

“I definitely won’t do that.”

“Why not? He’s the one going through the same feelings as you,” Gwaine says. Merlin doesn’t know how to respond. “Yeah. Makes sense, doesn’t it? I’m good like that.”

“You’d make a wonderful therapist,” Merlin says sardonically. “Let’s go before Morgana rips our heads off.”

“She’ll murder me for leaving two days before opening anyway,” Gwaine laughs.

“Probably.”

Inside, almost everyone is in costume already. It’s their first full dress rehearsal. They’ll run through everything, even the scenes that still need some finishing touches. He and Arthur need to work on the last few scenes especially, so they’ll skip the songs until the final rehearsal the day of opening night.

At center stage, Gwen is tweaking the front of Arthur’s costume. He looks unreal under the lights in a perfectly tailored suit, his sleek hair carefully styled into effortless waves. The suit is as close to Glinda’s massive glittering gown as Gwen could manage for a man; it certainly doesn’t lack the original splendor, and it does it without being tacky or absurd. The elegance of it makes Arthur almost too beautiful for Merlin to bear.

Gwaine elbows him between the ribs.

“Put those eyes back in your head,” he grins. Merlin shoves him. Gwaine nods at the stage. “Gwen’s outdone herself.”

“She’s a genius,” Merlin says, marveling at the whole set finally put together. The stage is draped in greens and golds and grays. The curves of color are simultaneously mechanical and ethereal, foreign and familiar.

“Oi!” Lance shouts as he jogs past with a prop-flying-monkey in his arms. “We’re starting in ten! Get into costume!”

Merlin emerges eight minutes later in what can only be described as a black tunic and black skinny jeans. There’s a thin black belt at his waist over the tunic, but it doesn’t do much for him. He clunks about on stage in his combat boots. Gwen shakes her head. She disappears and returns with black converse instead.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “These are way too heavy.”

“You’re wearing them later anyway.”

“Oh. That’s… great,” he says, but she’s already running to put the boots away. Merlin retreats backstage. He looks across at where Arthur’s waiting to begin in his mechanical “bubble.” The structure isn’t attached to any strings, Merlin notices, as it rises up.

Merlin’s tense when they start, but by the time he starts singing _The Wizard and I,_ he has his old rhythm back. He doesn’t feel like a bomb anymore; he feels wonderfully normal and in control. He worries Arthur will be too mad or on-edge to play Galinda properly, but he doesn’t disappoint. He’s better than ever, really.

Where Merlin finds the energy to power all the way to intermission without a drop of water, he hasn’t got a damn clue. They take a ten-minute break. Gwen makes adjustments to the costumes and takes notes on changes to make for tomorrow while Lance helps prepare the props for the second act.

Merlin goes straight to Arthur.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you earlier,” he says quietly, looking around, but no one’s listening.

“It’s fine, Merlin,” Arthur says, looking away.

“You were right.”

“Come again?” he says. There’s a slightly smile in his voice.

“You were _right_ , prat. If you’re kidding yourself, then sure as hell I am, too.”

“So….”

“So… maybe we can talk? Or just… drink and then maybe talk? Or rehearse like we’ve been saying we would for ages?” Merlin says.

Arthur looks at him. His face closes off.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You don’t have to shut me out.”

“What if I do? What do you know, Merlin?” Arthur snaps.

Merlin steps back, reeling.

“Fine. Come find me when you’re done throwing a fit.”

Merlin stalks away just as the curtain rises.

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

They’re taking a break when Gwen sees Morgana is alone. She looks around the theater until she knows where Morgause is (talking with Kara and Mordred on the other side of the room).

“Morgana,” she says. Morgana jumps. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s all right,” she sighs. “Tired, is all.”

“Are you still having trouble sleeping?”

“Gaius’s potions only work to a point,” she replies.

“What about Morgause? I thought she’s the one who really helped you last time.”

“She… can’t help this time.”

“Why not? It’s still your magic doing this. Shouldn’t the same methods work?”

“Never mind that, Gwen. Did you want to talk about something?”

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing. It looks like you’ve been awfully stressed these few days,” Gwen says, “with good reason.”

“If the King wants it, who are we to say no?” she says sardonically. Gwen hears true resentment in her voice. She sees Gwen’s expression and her relaxed a little. “Have they been bothering you?”

“No,” says Gwen, “but I hadn’t seen them for a few days before I came to you. Did you—did you talk to someone?”

“I did,” she says. “I want to know what they want from you.”

“Morgana, please, just keep them away. That’s all I want.”

“I’ll make sure they never approach you again,” she swears. “Trust me.”

“Of course I trust you,” Gwen says quietly.

“That’s… you don’t know how wonderful that is to hear,” says Morgana with a nervous laugh. “Really.”

“It’s the truth,” Gwen says.

“Thank you, Gwen. Can we… can we meet later?” she asks. “Like last time?”

“Sure,” she blinks. “Is there a reason?”

“I just… speaking with you, being with you—it helps me somehow,” Morgana admits. “I don’t know why.”

“You remember how we use to say we had a connection? When we were dating?”

“Yes. We could finish each other’s sentences. You almost always knew what I needed.”

 _Almost_ , Gwen thinks.

“Maybe… maybe that hasn’t totally gone away,” Gwen says.

Morgana doesn’t reply immediately. Morgause starts gathering everyone to continue the rehearsal. Gwen rises from her seat.

“See you tonight?” Gwen asks. Morgana nods wordlessly. She won’t meet her eye, but Gwen can feel her fear. She hates to acknowledge it, but she feels it too—fear of what’ll happen if they’re honest with each other.

On stage, Gwen finds Lance in the back with the props.

“How’s she doing?” he asks.

“I’ll tell you about all of it later,” she sighs. He looks at her curiously.

“Hey. It’ll be all right. I trust you, whatever it is you’re doing.”

He taps the ring on her finger.

“A promise is a promise, right?” he says.

“Yes. Without a doubt,” she says. Whatever fear she felt in the face of Morgana dissipated in the sheer love she felt for Lance that moment.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

Morgause and Morgana as Morrible and the Wizard finish off the scene where Fiyero runs away with Elphaba, leaving Glinda hurt and alone.

 _“Well, we’ll just have to flush her out,”_ Morgause/Morrible says.

_“But how?”_

_“Her sister,”_ Arthur/Glinda cuts in, his voice clear and tremulous.

_“What? What did she say?”_

_“Use her sister. Spread a rumor. Make her think her sister’s in trouble and she’ll fly to her side… and you’ll have her,”_ he says.

 _“Exactly so,”_ says Morgana/the Wizard.

Arthur leaves the stage. They decide that the rumor won’t cut it, and they’ll have to be a little more honest in the stories they spread about Elphaba’s dear sister. Arthur returns to the darkened stage to sing the reprise of _I’m Not that Girl_ , ducking out as the song transitions to _As Long As You’re Mine_.

Merlin’s voice rings out as the fog rolls through the darkness around his and Gwaine’s forms, kneeling together in each other’s arms.

 

_“Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight._

_I need help believing you’re with me tonight._

_My wildest dreamings could not foresee_

_Lying beside you with you wanting me._

_If just for this moment,_

_As long as you’re mine,_

_I’ve lost all resistance_

_And crossed some borderline._

_And if it turns out_

_It’s over too fast_

_I’ll make every last moment last,_

_As long as you’re mine.”_

 

Arthur blinks. He wipes at his eyes. He feels like it’s been so long since he’s heard Merlin sing so beautifully. Before, he was incredible, but now… something about him is absolutely mesmerizing.

Gwen taps his shoulder.

“They’re great, aren’t they? The song is perfect for both of their voices,” she whispers.

It hits Arthur like a stack of bricks. It’s _Gwaine_.

“They look good together,” he manages to say. Gwen properly hits his arm, her engagement ring definitely leaving a little bruise. “What was that for?” he exclaims.

“You’re being an idiot. It’s not _them_. That’s just Merlin being good at what he’s doing.”

“They’re pretty damn convincing,” he says mournfully.

“I repeat: _idiot_ , Arthur. It’s something else.”

“He’s the idiot if he thought coming back to Camelot was a good idea,” he murmurs. He can’t bring himself to look at Gwen, so she leaves him there to prepare for his next scene.

 _“What is it?”_ Gwaine/Fiyero asks.

 _“It’s just… for the first time… I feel wicked,”_ Merlin says with a mischievous smile. They kiss passionately and the stage lights go dark.

Arthur can’t get the image of their heads bent together out of his head. Before he knows it, he’s needed on stage.

\---

Rehearsal ends. They have more bumps near the end of the play than they’d like, but Morgana and Morgause say they’re confident they’ll get everything in order in time for opening night. Arthur’s in a daze as he removes his costume and changes back into his day clothes. When he returns to the stage prepared to apologize to Merlin, he finds him with Gwaine, speaking quietly and standing closer than Fiyero and Elphaba did in the play.

Arthur turns away. Gwen materializes out of nowhere.

“Arthur. Wait five minutes for him, will you? It’s something more.”

She’s gone before he can ask her what the hell she means. Arthur looks back just as Merlin hugs Gwaine and kisses his cheek. Gwaine ruffles Merlin’s hair before hopping off the stage and jogging away. He stops at the end of the aisle, waves at Arthur, and disappears through the double doors.

“Where’s he going?” Arthur wonders aloud.

“Leaving Camelot, actually,” Merlin replies. Arthur resolutely doesn’t look at him.

“Why?”

“Long story. I’ve been tasked with telling you,” he says.

“Maybe you should go with him,” Arthur says. He instantly regrets him. Merlin turns on him, very clearly annoyed.

“Enough of this, Arthur. Really. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why? Because of me? You could’ve – you could have gone to Mercia with your mom! Why the hell didn’t you go to safety when you had the chance?” Arthur asks wildly.

“Will you quit shouting?” Merlin hisses. He grabs Arthur’s sleeve and yanks him backstage, all the way to the back corner behind the black curtains along the wall. “Morgana can’t hear about Gwaine leaving or any of this, alright?”

Merlin quickly explains Gwaine’s story and his reasons for leaving. Arthur listens, gradually feeling worse for being so short with Merlin. He feels a surge of anger toward Morgana when he hears how she twice attempted to destroy his relationships for her own gain.

“I still don’t see why you’d stay. You could go with him,” Arthur says finally.

“You’re an idiot,” Merlin scowls.

“So I’ve been told,” he says. Arthur can barely see his face except for the sliver illuminated by the dim light coming through the space in the curtains around them.

“I came back for you. Camelot’s my home, but I’m staying here for you, too.”

“It’s not really worth the effort, Merlin. Uther’s too far ahead of us. We can’t beat him.”

“What? That’s bullshit.”

“Oh? Wait ‘til you hear this.”

It’s Arthur’s turn to brief Merlin. He watches Merlin’s face shift from confusion to anger to horror.

“He planned this all along. Oh, fuck. He knows _everything_ —”

“You see what I mean? It’s not safe for you at all! Or anyone, really,” says Arthur, shaking his head.

“I get that, but I’m not leaving.”

“You’re a fool then! He’s threatening me, _his son_ , with treason and a very public arrest if I get in his way at all! He’s threatening me with hurting _you_ , and I don’t even know how he’d do it.”

Merlin says nothing. His eyes are shut.

“You were right, Merlin. You were right all along about him. Morgana was, too.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Merlin says, shaking his head.

“So you see what I mean? Get out while you can,” he stresses. “I won’t see you hurt on my account.”

“He’d hurt me for being my parents’ son, Arthur. It’s not just you,” Merlin snorts. “No. I’m not leaving.”

Arthur’s heart stutters.

“Why?” he groans. “Merlin, please, for once in your life, just do as you’re fucking told!”

His eyes open and flash with anger, turning gold for a fraction of a second.

“With all due respect, _sire_ , I don’t have to do anything you tell me to do. I’m staying because I want to. I left because I needed to, but it was still my damn choice. Staying is my choice, too, and you’ll fucking respect it.”

“I never said I didn’t,” Arthur sighed. “Of course I do. Merlin. I do. I just—I can do this myself. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do anything to keep you from—”

“That’s bullshit, Arthur Pendragon. Get this through your head: I. Am not. Leaving.”

“You’re an idiot, then.”

“That’s not news,” Merlin laughs.

“I do respect your choice,” Arthur adds, “however stupid and suicidal it may be.”

“We’ll be fine. We’ll get through this together,” Merlin says, beaming through the darkness. “I know it.”

“Even after learning all that?”

“Er. Well, we’ll need a damn good plan, but I think we can do it. Like, eighty-six-percent sure.”

“That’s comforting.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not one for maths; it’s probably a better chance than that.”

Arthur finds himself laughing softly. It’s nice. Merlin laughs, too, leaning forward as he does, his hair brushing the side of Arthur’s face. Their little space between the curtain and the wall feels so much smaller – and a hell of a lot warmer now. Arthur wishes he had space to step away, but he’s the one backed into the corner. He clears his throat.

“What about Gwaine?”

“What about him? He’s left. Will’s taking him out to meet the rest of the Druid group members,” Merlin says. Arthur can hear the frown plain in his words. Arthur hesitates. Merlin hits his arm right where Gwen hit him earlier. “Oh, you really are a turniphead, aren’t you? There’s nothing between us! We’re only friends!”

“I only meant that if you wanted to—”

“Arthur – I love _you_ , not Gwaine or Will or anyone else! There’s no one else for me. I _love_ you.”

“Merlin,” he says weakly.

“I mean it. You’re an utter arse if you won’t take my word on this,” Merlin says, crossing his arms.

“Merlin,” he says again. His body floods with warmth and pinpricks of joy that make him want to move. He can’t stay still. He can’t just look at Merlin, this man, this person who _loves him_ —

Arthur takes Merlin’s face in his hands, and kisses him, backing him up against the wall, the curtain flapping around them. Merlin makes a surprised sound but responds with just as much agitation and joy, his hands searching for purchase on Arthur’s body, that search driving Arthur _wild_.

“Merlin,” he gasps. Merlin laughs. “What’s so funny?”

“You.”

“Shut up.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow at him, the challenge clear. Arthur happily accepts.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

Morgana pauses, listening by the trapdoor. She knows she heard rustling backstage somewhere but she can’t see or feel anyone. She decides it’s probably a rat and goes down to the Underground. She walks down the cold corridor down to the cave of a room where Nimeuh is slowly regaining her powers and exercising her magic on Arthur.

“How did the prince fare today?” Nimueh asks.

“Well on stage, but I’d say your magic is working very nicely on him otherwise,” Morgana replies.

“Why have you come to see me?”

“I wanted to ask you about Emrys.”

“What of him?” Nimueh asks, looking up from the bowl of water on her lap.

“ _He is your destiny and your doom._ ”

Morgana jumps at the deep rumble of a voice reverberating through the walls and floor.

“Keep it down, lizard,” Nimueh shouts. “Morgana, do not challenge Emrys. He can divide your pull among the true druids if he comes into the open.”

“He’s not in the open,” she says slowly.

“Then you are safe. So long as he stays hidden, your forces will stay unified and you have nothing to worry about,” she smiles.

Morgana pauses.

“Don’t hesitate. Your plan is good,” Nimueh says. “I look forward to facing my dear friend Uther once more. I have something… elegant planned for him.”

“I’m pleased,” Morgana says. She feels genuinely relieved and more at ease than she has in a long time. “The plan is to eliminate Arthur tomorrow night.”

“My, then your beautiful play will never see the light of day.”

“It’s no matter. I’m only doing it now because Uther ordered me.”

“What a strange, sick man he is,” Nimueh says. “It’s curious that he spawned you.”

“And Arthur,” she mutters.

“Arthur is a product of my magic,” she says. “Isn’t that irony beautiful? He is a child of magic himself!”

Morgana gapes at her.

“You didn’t know? Well, I don’t think Uther would want that to get around, or that his wife was barren.”

“He came to you for help conceiving?”

“Exactly. But magic always asks for a price. I couldn’t foretell it would take Ygraine. I’d have told him not to do it if I knew; Ygraine was a dear friend of mine,” Nimueh says distantly. “But he placed the blame on my head, and then on the whole magical population.”

“It was his fault. He did this to himself. He should have listened to you.”

“Uther is not an easy man to make understand, especially with matters like these,” Nimueh shrugs. “He will be his own destruction, as for all great, mad men like him.”

“I look forward to it,” Morgana says faintly.

“Go forward with confidence, Pendragon.”

“Good night, priestess.”

“Good night.”

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

They have their hands clapped over each other’s mouths until they hear Morgana emerge once more. A wooden door slams shut. Her heels clack across the floor. Merlin hears he keys jangling as she swipes them off the director’s table; he waits for the double doors at the back of the theater to close to drop his hand from Arthur’s face. They both gasp for air.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I dunno, but I swear I just heard something talk in my head _again_ ,” Merlin says. “Come on. We’re finding out what the hell is going on here.”

Five minutes and a small struggle with Merlin’s magic later, they’re in the Underground, gaping at the rubble at the entrance and shivering the cold of the passage. Another two minutes later Merlin and Arthur find themselves in a great, dark cavern, face-to-face with a gigantic lizard with wings – no, a _dragon_ , who appeared to be leering at them.

“Oh, shit,” Arthur breathes. “I’m—”

“No, wait!”

Merlin latches onto his hand and takes a step closer to the edge.

“Who are you?”

“The Great Dragon. I am also called Kilgarrah,” the dragon replies. Its voice is old and worn, but it’s definitely laughing at them. It’s almost _grinning._

“Kilgarrah?” Merlin repeats. “I’m, uh, Merlin. Balinor’s son.”

The dragon spreads its wings and shakes itself out. Merlin and Arthur back up until they’re practically climbing the walls.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Arthur murmurs. “We are _not_ in Kansas anymore.”

“Shut up a second, will you?” Merlin whispers. He turns to the Great Dragon.

“Balinor is dead,” Merlin announces. “He told me to see you.”

“Then his powers have passed on to you.”

“Powers?”

“As the last dragonlord – and the only person who can free me,” Kilgarrah adds. Merlin immediately takes a wary step back. “I felt his passing, young warlock. He was a good friend. He would never have done this to me if Uther hadn’t tricked him.”

The dragon’s eyes settle on Arthur.

“And you… you are the Once and Future King.”

“The what?” Arthur says.

“I dunno,” Merlin says.

The dragon sighs. “Ask the druids. Perhaps they have more patience for ignorance than I do.”

“My father said you could help me,” Merlin says.

“Perhaps,” says Kilgarrah. “And perhaps you could help me.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“We are kin, Merlin. Do not turn your back on me.”

The cavern turns tense on a dime. Merlin takes it as his cue to get him and Arthur the hell out of there.

“Well, it’s late, and I need to get some sleep, so I’m going to go now,” Merlin says quickly.

“You will consider my words.”

“Got it, mate,” he says over his shoulder. “Come on, Arthur.”

Merlin runs all the way out of the Underground.

“Ouch! Let go!”

“Sorry.” He lets go of Arthur’s arm.

“Desperate, are we?” Arthur asks. Merlin re-seals the trapdoor.

“Didn’t want to give him the chance to plead his case.”

“I didn’t like the way he looked at me,” says Arthur.

“That was another thing. It seems Uther’s got another enemy down there.”

“A confusing one.”

“True,” Merlin admits. They pause outside by Arthur’s car.

“Do you need a ride back to Gaius’s?”

“Suppose so. Gwaine drove me out, and I figure he’s dumped his car already, so….”

“Get in.”

The drive back into the citadel is long and quiet. They pass through no fewer than three checkpoints along the ring road alone. Arthur looks exhausted by the time they get through the gates of the Citadel.

For some reason, facing a dragon makes Merlin feel energized and brave.

“Your place is closer, isn’t it?” Merlin says.

“Yes. Why?”

“Gaius won’t mind if I’m gone for a night.”

Arthur remains quiet until they’re parked in his narrow driveway. Merlin follows him inside and flips a light switch.

“It’s pretty nice, when you can see where everything is,” he adds.

“Fuck off, Merlin.”

“So I’ll just go, then? Again?”

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur grins. His hand brushes Merlin’s tentatively. “Are… are you sure?”

“Uh, yes? I suggested it, didn’t I?”

“Okay,” Arthur says. He looks truly happy. “Hang on. I just need make a few calls. I’ll see if I can get the officers away from the perimeter where Gwaine and the others are crossing.”

He ducks out of the living room. Merlin takes off his shoes and lies out on the couch drowning in soft, soft pillows and blankets. He wonders how many nights Arthur’s slept down here rather than his bed.

“So,” Arthur says when he returns. He picks up Merlin’s legs, making room on the couch, and drops them back in his lap. “You love me, huh?”

Merlin pokes his stomach with his toe.

“Shut up.”

“So you _don’t_ love me?”

Merlin sits up. He slides a hand up the side of Arthur’s neck and draws him close.

“I suppose I do.”

After a moment of awed disbelief plain on his face, like he can’t quite figure out how he ended up _here_ , Arthur kisses him.

Merlin can taste the wound he’s nursing, the trauma, the scar tissue fresh and rough under the surface of him; he’s sure Arthur tastes the same thing on him. Arthur only kisses him harder. Merlin gets as close to him as possible, pulling Arthur down on top of him, so they’re laid out touching from shoulder to toe, suddenly incapable to keeping further apart than impossibly close together. It feels beyond good or pleasurable. They _fit,_ in a way Merlin never imagined two people could fit together – like sides of a coin, really. He makes Merlin feel wonderfully whole.

Arthur smiles against his lips, gently threading his fingers through Merlin’s hair, the tip of his nose cool on Merlin’s cheek.

“And I suppose I love you, too.”


	18. No Good Deed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [No Good Deed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EH61vwnjhDY)

**Morgana**

 

The front page of the morning paper has Morgana simultaneously furious and terrified.

_ESCAPE HALTED: SHOOTOUT ON PERIMETER_

It only gets worse as she reads on. All but one died; each of the casualties were carrying Druid Group badges, according to the officials. The pictures of those who died are in the article along with a call for all those associated to come forward in exchange for help from the DoME in the coming weeks. Morgana recognizes two of the four, but the others must be new.

_Only Gwaine Anderson, the well-known and well-liked owner of Club Lothian in the Citadel, escaped. Officials continue to pursue him. A search of his apartment yielded certain proof of sympathizing with magical aggressors. Anyone with information on his whereabouts who comes forward will be rewarded._

Morgana drops the paper like a hot coal. It falls facedown on the floor. She rifles through her purse until she finds her phone. There are already several messages from Morgause waiting for her.

“Did you know?” she demands when Morgause answers her phone.

“That he’d run? No.”

“And all our people who were on his assignment died?”

“Apparently so,” Morgause says.

“Our plan for tonight cannot fail,” she states. “We need to do everything we can do make sure it goes without a hitch.”

“I think,” Morgause pauses. She chuckles softly. “I think out luck has turned, sister. It seems in last night’s chaos, one of our own was seen trying to get into the palace. We got him before he could get inside.”

“We’ve found our mole?” Morgana says, beginning to truly smile.

“Yes, we have.”

“Find out what he knows about the patrol plans for tonight. I want to know where we’ll find the easiest point of crossing. Use whatever means necessary.”

“Consider it done, Morgana,” says Morgause. “See you tonight.”

Morgana hangs up. She tosses her phone aside and picks up the paper once more.

The phone rings again.

“Mordred? What is it?” she asks when she answers.

“It is Emrys, Morgana. I feel him getting stronger. He’s not far. I think… I could find him. The signature is clear enough that I think I could identify him,” says Mordred.

“Find him,” she orders. “You must tell me who he is as soon as you do.”

“If I find him, will Arthur still need to die?”

Morgana pauses and breathes out slowly.

“Mordred, he must die. He and Uther are the same.”

“They’re less similar than you and Uther are, Morgana,” he says.

“It’s what they both deserve.”

“And Emrys? What if—?”

“There are no what ifs! We do this ourselves. _No one_ will rescue us,” she says. “We must rescue ourselves, and damn the consequences. Give me Emrys’s identity before the plan goes through tonight and I’ll consider revising.”

“To include killing Emrys, too?”

Morgana hangs up. She’s in no mood to deal with Mordred’s aggravating idealism. She turns off her phone altogether and storms out of her room for breakfast.

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

Gwen returns from the shop and shuts the door of her flat quietly.

“Gwen?” Lance calls. He pops out of the kitchen wearing an apron and one oven mitt. “What’s wrong?”

“The shop’s been destroyed,” she says. Gwen makes it to the couch before her legs give way. “It’s horrible. I got there and the glass is all shattered. Everything in the cases has been stolen. They just took the register, since I had the key and it’s magic-resistant. They didn’t get to the safe, so I have that money, at least.”

“Oh, love. I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling right now,” Lance murmurs. He lets Gwen curl up in his arms. She wants to cry, but she feels too tired for it.

“That’s not the worst part,” she says into his shoulder. “They wrote slurs all over in spray paint. Anti-sorcerer slurs. Horrible, horrible things. I felt sick just seeing it. Whoever did this was no friend to the Druid group and they knew I’d worked with them.”

“Did you find the sales logbook?”

Gwen nods.

“I got it and dad’s journal out of the safe. They’re in the bag,” says Gwen. “You can check it. I don’t feel like it right now.”

“Later,” he says gently.

“Did you get the paper?” Gwen asks. Lance shakes his head. “I’ll go. Keep cooking before you burn the house down.”

Gwen steps outside into the humid morning air and walks down to the mailboxes at the foot of the stoop. She’s pulling the roll of newspaper out when she hears footsteps.

“Gwen Smith,” says a male voice.

She coils the newspaper tightly in her hand, ready to strike with it. She faces the speaker and finds a man in dark clothes and something shiny pinned to his chest under his jacket. She can’t tell if it’s a King’s Man or other law enforcement badge or if it’s a Druid or Blood Guard badge. Neither of them would be better than the other.

“Can I help you?” Gwen asks calmly.

“My condolences,” he says, “regarding what happened to your business.”

“I’m sorry, who are you exactly?”

“I take it you’ve received our messages,” he continues. “The lack of response has been rather rude, Ms. Smith.”

“Tell me who you are.”

“We said we’d be calling upon you,” says the man. “The time has come.”

“Blood Guard, then?” she says flatly. The man looks surprised. “I’m not an idiot. I know what that seal meant.”

“Did your father teach you, perhaps? He had a long correspondence with our order during the Great Purge,” says the man.

“I don’t have to agree to anything you ask of me. I haven’t signed any contract in blood.”

“Not yet.”

Gwen clutches the newspaper harder. She’s beginning to sweat visibly.

“Is that a threat?” she asks.

“It doesn’t have to be, Ms. Smith. We simply need you to make a few devices and tools. It’ll be nothing outside your skillset.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You may end up lonelier in this world tomorrow than you when you woke this morning.”

“Get off of my property,” Gwen says, eyes narrowing. The man takes a step back, hands raised.

“We’ll be back for you in three days.”

Gwen stands on the bottom step of her stoop until the man has disappeared. She runs inside and locks every lock behind her. She bars her door with the hall chair and sits on it, suddenly short for breath. The newspaper comes unrolled in her shaking hands. She sees the headline.

“Oh no.”

Lance emerges from the kitchen again, sans-oven mitt. He sees her and rushes to her side.

“What happened?”

She thrusts the paper in his face. She shakes her head as her throat threatens to close up.

“We have to leave,” she whispers. She hunches over and leans her head on Lance’s. She murmurs what just happened at the mailbox, keeping a steadying hand on his to prevent Lance from going after the man.

“What about Morgana? I thought she was helping you,” says Lance.

“I thought so, too. Maybe she tried. I don’t know for sure.”

“What did you talk about last night?”

“All sorts of things. I think… Lance, she wanted to protect me. I think she still loves me. I don’t think she’d have let this happen if she knew,” says Gwen. “That’s not the person I’ve come to know.”

“She wants to kill this Emrys fellow.”

“Listen to me, please! She’s going mad with grief and fear.”

“Gwen… motive doesn’t matter if murder still happens. Murder is murder.”

Gwen sags against him. She nods.

“You’re right. She’s planning to murder him. Hell, she’s probably planning to murder her father, too. Oh! Arthur! Arthur must be in danger too—Lance I can’t do this for the Blood Guard, not if it’ll be used to kill him!”

“Take a breath. It’ll be all right,” he says.

“It won’t be until we leave. If we’re out of their reach, they can’t use me.”

“What if they find someone else?”

“I don’t want any part of it,” she says firmly. She sighs. “You’re still right. As always. Arse.”

“What did I say now?”

“They’ll find someone else. We need to leave, but they’ll keep doing it so long as they’ve got a cause to fight for,” says Gwen.

“What are you saying?”

“Morgana cares for me. We can still use this. Will won’t have died for nothing,” she says. Lance nods.

“What’s the plan, Captain?”

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

His phone rings stridently. Arthur tries to sit up, but he’s tangled up in what feel like a bony octopus with soft hair tickling his nose. The couch doesn’t exactly allow for much comfortable movement anyway. Arthur twists and reaches for his phone, slipping a little through Merlin’s vice-like grip.

“Morning,” he says, voice thick with sleep.

“The king has ordered several search and arrest warrants for people within the palace,” Leon whispers. “I didn’t see for whom, but there were at least three.”

“You’re certain?”

“I saw them on Kay’s desk just now. Someone brought them over from the palace earlier. Do you have any idea who he’s going after? Or why?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea why, but I’ll bet at one of those is for me, and another is for Morgana,” Arthur replies. He tries to sit up but Merlin, still fast asleep, hugs his waist more tightly and keeps him from moving. Merlin snuffles softly, snuggling into Arthur’s stomach, his nose cool on Arthur’s skin where his shirt rode up in the night.

“What about the third one?”

Arthur smoothens back the hair on Merlin’s forehead gently.

“I can’t say I know,” Arthur says, sighing and dropping his head back on the pillow behind him.

“There’s one more thing… I take it you haven’t seen the paper yet? Or the news?”

“No, I was asleep when you called,” Arthur frowns. “What happened?”

“That party you said were making a run for it last night? I tried, but Special Forces were already waiting there. They weren’t letting any regular DoME officers through. It’s like they knew.”

“Uther’s mole in the Druid Group must have heard somehow. Damn it,” Arthur says. “What happened to them, Leon?”

“One escaped – Gwaine Anderson – but the rest are dead.”

The phone almost falls out of Arthur’s hand.

“All of them?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Arthur. You said one of them was Merlin’s friend, didn’t you?”

Arthur looks at Merlin, still asleep and utterly peaceful. He dreads what’ll come next.

“I did. Thanks for letting me know,” Arthur says. “I need to go.”

“Stay safe.”

Arthur puts the phone on the coffee table. Merlin starts to stir.

“Who was that?”

“Leon,” he says faintly. “Merlin, you should wake up.”

“Maybe you should wake me up,” he says, smiling against Arthur’s stomach. Arthur squirms, struggling to keep from getting hard – and fails miserably, but it’s absolutely not the time for it.

He dislodges Merlin from where he clings to him. His hair sticks up in all directions and there are lines on his face from the creases on Arthur’s shirt. Arthur cups his face and runs a thumb over one of those lines, just under the ridge of his cheekbone. Merlin’s sleepy smile falls. He sits up properly across from Arthur, drawing away from his touch.

“What’s wrong?”

\---

As soon as Merlin leaves, the whole house seems to fall in to darkness and illness overtakes him. He stumbles straight to the bathroom, suddenly coated in cold sweat and shaking as he grips the rim of the toilet bowl. It takes at least ten minutes for the vomit to finally come up, and he doesn’t feel any better when it’s over. Arthur props himself up against the side of the tub. He turns over and turns on the tap in the tub. With some effort he manages to stick his head under the water.

Arthur emerges feeling somewhat clearer in the head, but not by much.

The boy is there when he opens his eyes. Arthur jumps and bangs his head against the tub.

“What do you want?” he whispers.

He takes slow steps toward Arthur, reaching out with his thin, ashen arm.

“You hurt me,” the boy replies. “You hurt my family and my friends. A price must be paid.”

“No, please—”

The boy touches Arthur’s head. Flakes of charred dead skin fall off his arm onto Arthur’s wet shirt. He tries to get away, but the boy won’t budge.

“Sleep, now. When you wake, it will be easier.”

Arthur falls to the side, eyes rolling back in his head. He hits the tiles hard and promptly knocks out.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

“Gaius?” he calls. His voice cracks. “Are you there?”

He pounds on the door again and wishes for the hundredth time that he’d had a key duplicated.

“Please be here,” he murmurs. The lump in his throat threatens to choke him.

He considers opening the door with magic when a palace guard comes jogging up the stairs.

“What’s the problem?” the guard asks.

“I’m looking for Gaius. I’m his assistant. He’s usually here at this hour.”

“He was summoned by the king a little while ago.”

“Oh. Will he be back soon?”

“I don’t know. I… wouldn’t count on it,” the guard admits. The man drops his voice. “If you’re his assistant, I’d say run while you can.”

Merlin’s mouth goes dry. He nods. The guard lets him pass. As soon as he’s outside in the gardens, he calls Arthur, but he doesn’t answer. After three tries, he leaves him a message, saying,

“They took Gaius. His was the third warrant. I’m going to Gwen’s and staying there ‘til rehearsal. Please be careful, okay? I love you.”

Merlin inhales sharply, deeply, and starts making his way out of the Citadel. He knows if he can just hold it together until he gets to Gwen, he’ll be okay in the long run. He needs to stay in control, just like Gaius said. His magic feels beyond volatile now, like anything could trigger something violent and horrific.

A gunshot fires somewhere else within the Citadel. It startles Merlin – his control slips. His magic makes the pavement crack and bursts a fire hydrant. Water shoots into the sky and the metal hunk falls somewhere down the street.

Merlin runs as quickly as his shaking legs will carry him.

\---

By the time he reaches the DeBois Quarter, it’s nearly time for rehearsal. He’s drenched in sweat and rain. His arms and legs feel numb from running, crawling, and crouching across the city – and from the sheer physical strain of keeping his magic in check. His whole body is about to crash under the fatigue. He stumbles down the steps into the theater. Only Gwen, Lance, Morgause, and a few chorus members are there.

“Merlin!”

Gwen runs to him.

“What happened to you?”

“I walked from the palace. Not the smartest idea I’ve had,” he says. Pain cuts through his midsection. He doubles over. “Ah, fuck. Just help me get to the shower and I’ll be fine.”

The shower doesn’t help all that much. He’s still a shaking, exhausted mess with pain periodically lancing through his body and striking like spikes at random places. Merlin sits in the front row while everyone else sets up for rehearsal. His head pounds continuously.

“Hey,” Gwen says, dropping into the seat next to him. She produces a wet cloth and wipes his brow. “How are you holding up?”

“Been better,” he grimaces. Another spike drives through his stomach. “Agh. I’ve been _much_ better, actually.”

“Why is… all this happening?” she asks, gesturing at where he claws at his stomach.

“As soon as I heard about – about Will, my magic started going haywire,” Merlin says. Gwen wipes away a tear on his cheek. “I went to Gaius. A while ago he told me my magic is changing and I need to be careful, but Gaius was already gone. I don’t think I can – ah! Fuck, that one hurt. I don’t think being careful is an option.”

“You’ve made it this far.”

“Yeah, because I was running for my life across the city. If I’d stayed there, Uther’s men would’ve found a reason to arrest me, too.”

Gwen takes his face between her hands.

“Look at me, Merlin. There’s nothing you could’ve done for Will.”

“My magic—”

“Isn’t very helpful,” she says apologetically. “Uther was ready for them. He must have had this planned.”

“I should never have let Will come with me to Camelot,” Merlin mutters, shutting his eyes. “I knew he’d have gotten into some bad shit back home, but here—”

“Merlin, love, please. Think of something else for now. Focus on the musical. Come – I’ll help you into costume. We’re starting soon.”

“I haven’t had the chance to grieve, Gwen.”

“You will,” she says firmly, “but now isn’t the time; you know it. And you certainly can’t do it if you’re beating yourself up over what’s happened when you couldn’t have done anything about it.”

Merlin eventually nods. Gwen doesn’t appear convinced, but Merlin’s rising out of the seat and following her, so she doesn’t press the matter. Merlin’s breathes a little more easily, letting her manhandle him about. His head still hurts horribly and he can barely see straight. He lets her do as she pleases with him and barely pays any attention to her, or anything else.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

“I’m looking forward to seeing your production,” Uther says, dabbing his napkin at the corners of his mouth. “I believe opening night is already sold out.”

“Is it?” Morgana asks. “I haven’t been keeping track.”

“Oh, it is. I think the entire council is going.”

“Fantastic,” she mutters. She wipes her mouth and tosses her napkin onto her plate.

“Are you in a hurry to leave?” Uther says, peering at her.

“I’m already late for rehearsal, and I really need to be there. We’ve still got a few scenes to iron out.”

“Surely you can wait another minute or so? Your company can manage themselves a little longer, yes?” he asks. Morgana sits back down. Uther clearly won’t accept _no_ now.

“What is it you want to discuss?”

“The man who tried to escape last night – he was Arthur’s former lover,” Uther says. He sips his wine. “And he was in your production.”

“He was a friend, doing me a favor,” Morgana says, frowning. “He was perfect for one of the parts and I hadn’t found a replacement yet.”

“He owned Lothian, correct?”

“Yes. Where is this going?”

“I was quite surprised to find that the first payments for the club property could be traced back to your accounts, Morgana.”

“Like I said, he owed me a favor.”

“You see, there was evidence all over his apartment of his associations with the Druid group, but nothing that dated prior to the opening of Club Lothian,” Uther explains. He stands up and walks the length of the table to where Morgana sits. She sits back and looks up at him. “We are looking now for an associate of his who might be an informant for us. Should they cooperate, no harm will come to them. But if they don’t, I cannot say it’ll be a pleasant experience.”

“Why are you telling me this? There’s nothing I can do to help,” Morgana says. She pushes her chair out and stands up abruptly. She clenches her hands behind her back.

“Are you certain, Morgana?”

“I am! Of course I am.”

“This is your only chance.”

“For what?” she asks incredulously. Uther sighs.

“Guards,” he calls. Lines of Special Forces officers file in from each of the four entrances to the dining room. Three officers step forward; one hands Uther a folded paper. “Morgana, you’re under arrest for breaking and entering, larceny of government property, conspiring with known enemies of the state, and treason.”

Two officers grab each of her wrists. She struggles against the cuffs. When they click in place, the wind is knocked out of her. She doubles over, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. She looks up at Uther from her knees.

“What have you done to me?” she croaks.

“I’ve locked away your magic,” says Uther, looking down. “I’m gravely disappointed with you.”

“What proof do you have of these charges?” she grits out.

Uther waves. One officer steps forward and produces the logbook she’d stolen from the DoME weeks ago, which she’d locked in a spelled box under a floorboard in her room.

“I trust you had a search warrant.”

“Of course. I’m not above the law,” Uther replies with a half-smile. Morgana resists the urge to spit in his face. “This is your final chance, Morgana.”

“Don’t you worry about me, _father_ ,” she says. Morgana forces herself up from her knees, then onto her feet. “I have nothing to hide now.”

Uther looks at her for a long moment. Morgana watches him, waits for him to break eye contact. He finally looks away and waves his hand at the officers. They lead her away from the dining room, pausing only to blindfold her before guiding her somewhere deep beneath the palace to parts Morgana knows she’s never explored – and she knows where no one will ever find her.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

Rehearsal was stilted. Neither Arthur nor Morgana appeared, nor did their understudies. Morgause checked her phone constantly, but sometime halfway through the second act, she stopped altogether, seemingly resigned to look mildly concerned for the rest of the night.

When the night wraps up, Merlin returns from the changing rooms almost bowled over in pain. The music helped keep it at bay, but it’s back at full force now. Merlin drops into a seat at the end of a row near where Morgause sits and breathes slowly and deeply while he waits to speak to her. Mordred is currently whispering feverishly across the table at her.

“I’ll go,” Morgause says to him. “I know how to get past them.”

“I need to consult with the others. Someone must know what’s happening,” Mordred says.

They say something else, but Merlin doesn’t hear enough to make anything coherent of it. Merlin watches the last of the cast file up the aisle. Gwen pauses by where he sits.

“You’ll stay with us tonight?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

She hits his arm lightly. “Are you coming up now?”

“I wanted to stay, practice a few songs. I wanted to go over some with Arthur but seeing as he’s not here….”

“Try calling him again.”

“I’ve left maybe twenty messages, Gwen. He’s not going to pick up,” Merlin sighs. Behind them Morgause gathers up her things, her keys hitting the table surface loudly. Merlin twists around. “Can I stay to rehearse?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Morgause says.

“Do you need the space tonight?”

“No. Here,” she throws a set of keys at Merlin. “Lock up on your way out.”

“Are you sure?”

Morgause looks around the empty theater.

“Yes. Leave them under the mat.”

She leaves without another word.

“Do you want me to stay?” Gwen asks. Merlin shakes his head.

“Save a bit of dinner for me?” he asks.

“Of course,” she says warmly. She kisses the side of his head. “Don’t overdo it, love.”

Merlin waits until the door shuts one last time before easing out of the seat and hobbling up to the stage. The pain coursing through him reduces him to his hands and knees. He crawls across the wide space until he’s in the middle of the stage, right under the heat of the lights. He checks his phone again, but there’s nothing from Arthur.

He calls Leon.

“Merlin?” he answers. “What is it?”

“Can you check on Arthur? He’s not answering my calls. I haven’t heard from him since I left his place this morning,” Merlin says.

“Do you think Uther’s men got him?”

“I don’t know, but I know something’s happened. Please, Leon, I just need to know he’s—”

“Okay, take a breath. I’ll go as soon as my shift’s over at eight. I’ll call you from the house.”

“Thanks,” Merlin exhales. “Really.”

“It’s no problem. I’m worried about him, too.”

Merlin slides his phone a little ways away from him and reaches just a little too far. His whole body lights up in agony. He cries out, curling in on himself. The floor shakes. Dust falls from the ceiling. He feels like his brain’s been pressed up against a ragged wall and something’s slowly grating it against the bricks. Merlin grits his teeth to keep from shouting again. He rolls onto his hands and knees and sits up. He turns his face up to the ceiling. Dust sticks to his sweaty face.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Okay. Music. Singing. I can do this.”

His voice comes out more like a rasp first, but slowly the sounds smooth out into something comprehensible.

 

_“Elekah namen namen atum atum eleka namen_

_Eleka namen namen atum atum eleka namen.”_

Merlin pauses for breath, the strain on his body already starting to lift.

_“Let his flesh not be torn, let his blood leave no stain,_

_When they beat him let him feel no pain._

_Let bones never break, and however they try to destroy him,_

_Let him never die, Let him never die!”_

 

Merlin pushes off the stage onto his knees. He sucks in the air, suddenly sweet and full again, his lungs no longer searing with every breath. He sings the rest of the chant chant as he rises to his feet, energy seeping through him from the ground up.

 

_“Ah! What good is this chanting?_

_I don’t even know what I’m reading!_

_I don’t even know what trick I ought to try._

_Fiyero where are you? Already dead or bleeding?_

_One more disaster I can add to my generous supply!”_

 

The pain vanishes with the last note he holds, but the thoughts that haunt him – Gaius’s whereabouts, desperate hope that Arthur hasn’t been taken in by Uther’s men yet – the guilt that poisons his veins from the memories of his father and the officers he murdered, the anger at his helplessness, about _Will_ , his fucking _useless_ magic – it all bubbles up and froths over, beating down with every pulse of his headache like a fist on a wall. He can hear the anguish he’s tried to tamp down burst out through the words he sings, unbridled and uncontrollable now.

 

_“No good deed goes unpunished._

_No act of charity goes unresented._

_No good deed goes unpunished—_

_That’s my new creed!_

_My road of good intentions_

_Led where such roads always lead—_

_No good deed_

_Goes unpunished!”_

 

Merlin steps up to the edge of the stage, looking out at the empty seats, breathing huge gulps of air. His face is hot with tears.

 _“Nessa_.”

Something in his abdomen convulses.

_So many people have gotten hurt because of me – and at my hand._

_“Doctor Dillamond.”_

Something tears inside him. He gasps at the sensation.

_What good can I do if all I’ve done is cause harm?_

_“Fiyero...”_

_Will. Oh, fuck, Will. You were so wrong, about all of this, and me._

_“Fiyero!”_

_I might just be a monster yet – because I let you die._

Merlin hits the ground hard, the pain triple its prior intensity. He writhes on the stage, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, the dizzying coolness of imminent rest wafting over his burning skin. He’s so close. It’d be so simple, to just let it go, to let the pain come and punish him for everything he’s done, for what he couldn’t do.

Something stops him right in his tracks. Something tells him he’s a complete idiot and more than a bit of a clotpole for even thinking it.

“No. _No_. Not now, not ever.”

The pain doubles up again, but Merlin screams and forces back, back, _back_ , until he can take in a mouthful of air and sing,

 

_“One question haunts and hurts,_

_“Too much, too much to mention._

_Was I really seeking good –_

_Or just seeking attention?_

_That’s all good deeds are_

_When looked at with an ice-cold eye?_

_If that’s all good deeds are_

_Maybe that’s the reason why—”_

 

Magic _surges_ through his body on that note, flooding through him like it’s burst free of a dam, washing Merlin in cool, refreshing air, filling him with light and energy and strength. He almost drowns in the pure goodness of the feeling, gurgling around the abundance of relief. He slowly climbs to his feet, clinging to the red curtains for support. He can feel the insects lingering in the rafters and the rain sliding down the roof. The dragon’s heartbeat below beats in tune with his own. Every living thing around him calls out to Merlin and his magic, his wonderful, steady magic, as healthy and strong as Merlin’s own life. For the first time, Merlin’s magic and the rest of his self are in sync, and he can feel just how unbalanced, off-kilter, out of tune, and disharmonized he had been until this very moment.

Merlin propels himself forward into the center of the stage, grinning as widely as his face allows, singing at the top of his lungs,

 

_“No good deed goes unpunished!_

_All helpful urges should be circumvented!_

_No good deed goes unpunished!_

_Sure, I meant well, but look at what well meant in—”_

 

Merlin walks forward a few steps, back to the edge, glancing down at the space between him and the first row of seats. His legs are steady and strong. Nothing about him feels weak or shaky – in fact, he feels like he’s never felt before.

He starts to grin and finishes the song.

 

_“All right enough, so be it! So be it then._

_Let all Oz be agreed,_

_I’m wicked, through and through!_

_Since I could not succeed,_

_Fiyero, saving you,_

_I promise no good deed will I attempt to do again,_

_Ever again!_

_No good deed will I do_

_Again!”_

 

Merlin opens his eyes. He can see his magic flowing out in golden ghostly tendrils, snaking over the seats and into the ground. He’s barely caught his breath when he sees someone standing at the back lingering in the shadow by the doors.

“Who’s there?” Merlin shouts.

Mordred steps forward, his eyes round and bright. He stops just short of the stage to look up at Merlin.

“You’re him. You’re Emrys,” he whispers.

“What? What does that mean?” Merlin frowns.

Mordred’s expression transforms from awe to terror.

“Oh, gods. No. I – I’m sorry, Merlin.”

Merlin shouts for Mordred to come back, but by the time he chases him out to the street, Mordred has disappeared.


	19. March of the Witch Hunters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [March of the Witch Hunters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4nhT0ZWP0A8)

**Arthur**

 

He’s shivering when he wakes. Arthur slowly sits up. The light in his bathroom seems inordinately bright. He stumbles to the switch and blindly shuts it off. Arthur feels his way out of the room and to the kitchen. He sinks into a chair at the table and scrubs his face a few times. The side of his head hurts; when he touches it, his hand comes away littered with crusts of blood, and his head throbs on contact.

Arthur makes the mistake of opening his eyes. The boy is there, sitting across from him at the table. He remembers seeing him in the bathroom earlier but… nothing else before that. Nothing at all – other than the raid, really. The raid doesn’t leave him.

“What do you want from me?” Arthur asks.

“I want you to atone for what you’ve done,” the boy replies. He slides off the chair and walks around to stand by Arthur. They’re at eye-level like this. “A price needs to be paid. Magic demands a give and take.”

“A balance,” Arthur murmurs. “I know this.”

“Then you understand.”

“I… do,” he hears himself say. He’s rising up out of the seat without even thinking about it. He suffers a moment of panic, wondering why the hell he’s moving toward his car when he knows he doesn’t want to go, but the boy takes his hand, and all doubts vanish. Arthur’s mind goes blank, rid of everything but the raid.

“I knew you’d see reason,” the boy says softly. Arthur gets into his car and starts the engine. The boy is already in the back seat.

“Show me where to go,” Arthur says.

“I will. We must be careful, though. The King’s Men will kill you if they see, and that’s not what we want,” the boy replies.

“Of course,” he murmurs. Arthur pulls out of the driveway and makes his way down the road, the boy’s presence like a thread tugging on the back of his head.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

Banging her fist on the table repeatedly, she shouts,

“Whatever you think you’re accomplishing by leaving me in here, it’s not fucking working!”

Morgana kicks the table as far as her chained ankles allow her. She stops pounding the table, the sound of her restraints hitting the metal edge absolutely _not_ helping. Morgana crosses her arms and looks to her right at the two-way mirror.

“You know, I can’t talk if you don’t ask me questions.”

After hours of waiting alone, the door suddenly opens.

“You’ve made it very clear that you won’t talk anyway, my lady,” says an officer – Kay, is it? – who she vaguely recognizes from the DoME. He sticks his head out the door and waves at someone. The next person to enter her interrogation room is one of the last she expects to see: Gwen’s boyfriend, Lance. He, however, doesn’t appear surprised to see her.

They sit down across from her.

“This is your final chance to cooperate,” Kay says.

“I have nothing to hide.”

“What do you know about the insurgents leading the riots against Camelot?”

Morgana says nothing.

“What about the Druid group? According to our records you’re not a registered member, but you clearly have magic,” Kay says, his lip curling in disgust. Morgana smiles, and he looks off-put.

 _Good_ , she thinks.

“Do you know who their leaders are, the ones who call themselves the Priestesses?”

Morgana actually laughs.

“What?” Kay demands.

“How could I possibly know anything about them? I’m not part of the Druid group, as you’ve said, and everyone knows that the insurgents broke off from it,” she says calmly. “If I was never part of it, how could I know anything?”

“Explain how you came to have the Druid group logbook that was stolen from the DoME, then.”

“It was planted in my room. Why would I want to bring down my own home?”

“Because you hate it,” Kay replies. “It’s also well-known that you fight the king often on the rights of sorcerers in Camelot and want them in the Council.”

“Arthur fights him, too, but I don’t see him here,” she says.

“That’s only because we haven’t found him yet, but rest assured, his arrest warrant was the first to be issued,” Kay replies. Morgana blinks.

“Why would Arthur be arrested?” she scoffs.

“Treason, my lady,” he says smoothly.

“You seem pleased,” Morgana says, hiding her confusion.

“What is it you’d like, Morgana?” Kay asks. “As the king’s ward we _may_ be willing to negotiate a deal with you.”

“I want to go to the goddamn toilet, actually. Call it a feminine problem.”

Kay pulls a face. Morgana glares at him until he breaks.

“Fine. Walk her there and back. Leave the bindings.”

“Seriously? You expect me—?”

“We’re taking every precaution,” Kay says sourly, “only because you and your people have forced us.”

He opens the latch attaching her cuffs to the table and hands the end of the chain to Lance. He leads Morgana out the door and down the hall. She tries to take in as much of her surroundings as possible, but the floors are gray, and the walls are equally gray and unlike any walls she’s seen in the palace. She might as well be on an island.

Lance stops by the door to the toilet and searches for a key.

“They know everything, Morgana. Uther’s known of your loyalties for months,” he murmurs. Morgana looks down, eyeing the locks on her manacles. “He has your notes on getting through to the Underground through the Repertory.”

Morgana exhales thinly.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I knew you once. You and Gwen were… you meant the world to her,” Lance replies. He finds the right key in his pocket and hovers by the keyhole. “I don’t want you to make things worse for you and your cause than they need to be.”

“What do you care for my cause?” she sneers involuntarily.

“More than you can imagine. We all do.”

“Why?”

“I doubt anything I say will convince you, Morgana, but Merlin put it nicely once: we all matter, including sorcerers,” Lance says. “He’s absolutely right.”

He unlocks the door and holds it open for her.

“If we thought you felt the same way, there might be more I could do for you. But it’s clear you don’t.”

Morgana stares at him. Lance steps out of the way of the door and stands at attention to the side. He deliberately doesn’t meet her eye; Morgana goes into the bathroom with a huff. The door swings shut and her chains finally stop rattling. Her heart beats quickly in her chest as she grips the sides of the sink and stares into the mirror, as though it might produce a cure for her predicament.

Lance knocks hard on the door after a few minutes. She flushes a toilet and runs the tap for good measure.

“There’s nothing you can do for me now, if Uther knows what he says he knows,” Morgana says to Lance when the door to the windowless bathroom shuts behind her. “Not unless you can get these off me.”

She shakes her wrists in the cuffs before handing Lance the end of the chain. He looks at her sadly.

“I can’t do that,” he says. He walks her down the hall silently. He stops short of the interrogation room and turns around. “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure anyone can help you now. The case against you is airtight.”

“They’ve got that much on me?”

Lance nods. He gives her another sad look before letting her through the door.

Uther is waiting, her leather-bound notebook in hand, which had been a gift from him for her thirteenth birthday and now overflows with her plans for – well, _everything_.

“I must say, Morgana, I haven’t even finished reading this in its entirety but I’m terribly curious about a few things,” says Uther. He walks around the table. Morgana finds the back at her wall. He picks up her chains and locks her to the table. “Sit. Please.”

She continues to stand. Uther doesn’t move either.

“I don’t believe we need to be enemies.”

Morgana raises an eyebrow at him.

“I doubt that,” she says. Uther starts to smile.

“Tell me – how much do you know about the one the druids call Emrys?”

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

Merlin makes a terrible mess of his hair, pulling at it and running his hands through it, by the time he makes up his mind and gets off the street. He stares at the empty theater still thrumming with magic, golden wisps lingering in the air like cascading threads. His mind is still in a haze from the high of finally _breaking though_ whatever had been holding him back. Merlin feels like he finally fills out his body, like he finally has full control over it, in spite of the magic that continues to course through him at a lightning-fast rate.

Then there’s Mordred, who said he was _Emrys_ , whatever the hell that means.

_“It is your destiny, Merlin.”_

Merlin jumps.

“What the hell?”

_“Perhaps it is time you pay me another visit, young warlock.”_

This time Merlin’s magic opens the trapdoor on the stage with the utmost ease. The difference in how it feels is like night and day. He steps around the rubble and makes his way to the icy cavern where Kilgarrah is already upright and waiting.

“What destiny?” Merlin says without preamble.

“You and the Once and Future King will reunite Camelot and magic,” says the dragon.

“That’s what you called Arthur.”

“Indeed it is.”

“So… we’re supposed to do what now? Reunite magic and Camelot? Morgana’s trying and it’s _not_ going well.”

“She does not try to reunite the two. She attempts to tear down the Camelot that is in order to raise one to her liking,” Kilgarrah replies. “She has enlisted the aid of Uther’s former Court Sorcerer, the witch Nimueh.”

“She… she’s the one who was trapped down here, right?”

“Left with so many years to plan her revenge and let her hatred for Uther fester, you can only imagine what they plan to do to the royal family.”

“And Arthur?”

“Your prince’s life is in danger,” Kilgarrah says. Merlin’s heart clenches in his chest. “The witch has set her loyal followers upon him.”

“Morgana? Or Nimueh?”

The dragon has the gall to smile.

“Both. It was the terms of their agreement, for Morgana fears another more than she loves her brother, and with his death the one she fears cannot defeat her,” Kilgarrah says. It seems to chuckle, with irks Merlin to no end.

“Seriously, quit being so fucking vague: are they trying to kill Arthur?”

“Yes. It’s all to weaken the king and make him easier to take down,” Kilgarrah says.

“Nimueh did not leave the underground until earlier today. Until now she was my neighbor, and my hearing is rather excellent.”

“What else do you know?”

“Very little.”

“Do you know what they’ll do?”

“No.”

“What about when?”

“Tonight, I believe. If I’m not mistaken, it may already be happening.”

“Oh, fucking _fuck_. Okay. What else? What about where?”

“I believe I heard mention of a druid camp. I cannot be certain. You must save Arthur, no matter the cost,” Kilgarrah says.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Merlin says, knowing he means the words with all his heart. “You could tell me how to get to the camp, though.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Merlin groans.

“It is certainly outside Camelot, beyond the border patrols and all of Uther’s men.”

“Perfect. You’ve been incredibly unhelpful, you know.”

The dragon shrugs.

Merlin runs out before the dragon can distract him any longer. He thinks back to the street and doesn’t remember seeing any cars parked out there – not that he’d know how to drive one, or that he’d be able to get through the patrol like that. He paces the length of the stage a few times and pulls at his hair again.

“Augh!” he cries. “Fuck. Okay. Uh?”

He runs backstage, desperate for something, _anything_. There are props everywhere, but nothing that could be remotely helpful to him.

In the back of his mind, the dragon laughs.

“What now?” Merlin shouts, thoroughly aggravated now.

_“Perhaps you should do as your character does and take to the sky.”_

“How the hell do you propose I do that?”

_“You can set me free.”_

“That’s not happening,” Merlin snaps automatically. Kilgarrah’s attitude becomes abruptly less cordial.

_“Then you are out of luck.”_

Merlin lets out an angry sound and pushes Kilgarrah away. Eventually his gaze settles on something that just _might_ work. He looks around, as though someone might judge him for doing something so ludicrous, and releases a fraction of magic. It flows with ease and bends precisely to his will, sending a comforting thrill through Merlin’s body.

The broom rises off the pile of props and floats into his open hands.

“This is fucking mental,” he says, staring at the broom in disbelief. He swings one leg over it and tries to get comfortable, but there’s really only so much he can do about that when he’s balancing on a wooden pole between his legs.

He releases a little more magic and suddenly he’s rising off the ground, the stage falling away below him at a dangerously fast rate—

“Ow!” Merlin grunts when his head hits one of the stage lights. He lowers the broom until he can stand on the stage again.

He looks at the broom, then back out at the empty audience toward the doors.

“Arthur’s never going to let me live this one down,” Merlin mutters. He jumps off the stage and runs out to the street. Just as he’s about to mount the broom again, Mordred pops out from around a corner.

“Wait!” he shouts. “Wait, Merlin.”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry, Mordred,” Merlin says, looking up at the darkening sky.

“You’re going to find Arthur, right?”

Merlin looks at him sharply. “Do you know where he is?”

“I’ll show you.”

Mordred reaches for Merlin and places his hands on either side of his head, just like when he healed Merlin of that curious sickness from the drinks at Gwaine’s club, resting his thumbs on Merlin’s closed eyelids. Images of a forest encampment suddenly flood Merlin’s mind, as well as the way to find it.

“Your powers are healing and growing,” Mordred says quietly. “It’s good. Brilliant, really. All of us felt it when you came into your powers.”

“You called me Emrys,” Merlin says hesitantly.

“The true druids believe in you and what you’ll do for us all someday,” Mordred says. He looks so terribly young and hopeful. Merlin knows he looks confused; he goes for something he needs to know instead.

“You’re… you are with Morgana’s people, aren’t you?”

Mordred looks away, his face darkening.

“I’ve always believed in Emrys and the prophecies of the Once and Future King. I believe they’ll change Albion for the better and bring a new era for everyone. If you are Emrys, and Arthur is truly the Once and Future King… I’ll have to reconsider Morgana.”

Merlin nods. He’s not entirely sure what to say. Mordred smiles at him grimly.

“Thank you,” Merlin finally says.

He staunchly ignores Mordred’s smirk as he mounts the broom once more and lets his magic flow. Merlin rises up and up, the air flowing faster and cooler the further he ascends. He halts at a height from where he can see where the buildings change from homes to factories and then abruptly drop off at the ring road, giving way to forests and, judging by the little lights, the Uther’s night patrol. In the distance to the west, just as Mordred showed him, a tiny column of smoke rises from the trees. He tightly grips the brittle stage-prop broom handle with sweating palms when he sets sight upon the smoke.

 _There_.

Merlin flies.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

“You’ve noted the name several times recently,” he says, pointing at a few entries in the notebook. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard it, either, though not since… many years before the Purge. I’m curious how you came across it.”

“That book was in a spelled box,” she grits out.

“Our technology for overriding magic is quite advanced, I assure you.”

“Wonderful.”

“Who is this Emrys fellow, hmm? I am aware that it is a sort of title in the language of the Old Religion and that the druids speak of this person.”

Morgana draws out her seat and sits down, refusing to look at Uther.

“Come now, surely you know something, Morgana. You were always such a bright, determined young woman,” Uther says.

She maintains her silence, vigorously biting her lip.

“I was warned of Emrys by a woman I once considered a friend who turned out to be a snake in my own garden,” Uther says, glancing sharply at her. “She spoke of a prophecy regarding Emrys and another Pendragon ushering in the end of my reign. I pressed her for details, but she knew little else, or refused to tell me.”

Uther slides Morgana’s notebook toward her.

“Whatever your intentions toward me may be, I can see that you want Emrys dead as well.”

“So what if I do?” she snaps. She calms herself and says, “If Emrys were to end your reign, I would celebrate with him.”

Any warmth drains out of Uther’s expression.

“Then why do you wish him dead, if you want what he wants?”

“I don’t. Emrys may not even exist—”

“I know he is real; don’t _lie_ to me, Morgana, as you’ve lied about your illicit activities with the insurgents,” he says thunderously. Uther stands up, casting a long shadow over Morgana. “I have listened to your lies for months now. I’ve done everything in my power to drive you straight, Morgana, but magic poisoned your mind. You cannot think clearly. You cannot think for yourself, consumed by what evil it inspires in you!”

“Damn you,” she spits.

“What did you say?”

“ _Damn_ you, Uther,” Morgana repeats. “My magic is as much a part of me as my heart. I can’t help it any more than I can help I’m your daughter.”

Uther flinches at her cold tone. Morgana feels invigorated.

“The only evil I see is in _your_ heart, in your hatred of an entire people and your desire to murder us all. It has consumed you,” she presses on. “And to think it’s all to soothe the guilt you feel over the death of your wife – a death _you_ caused.”

Uther strikes her with the back of his hand.

“That… is enough,” he says, stepping back. Morgana touches her face; her hand comes away red from where his ring cut her cheek. “I know about every way you’ve hurt me.”

“Go to hell.”

“I want Emrys found and brought to me. I will have him killed. If you are willing to pool our resources, we will both get what we want – at least for the time being,” Uther says.

“I reject your offer, Uther.”

“It may the only way you’ll see him dead.”

“I’d rather rot in Meleagant than work with you.”

“You may just have your wish.”

Uther pulls her notebook back to him. He flips to an earlier entry.

“You’ve asked the true druid Mordred to identify Emrys for you. Let’s give him a call and see what he’s learned, shall we?”

“Last I spoke to him, he knew nothing at all,” Morgana says quickly. The last thing she wants is Uther’s paranoia to trap Mordred and Morgause and all the others who are crucial to her plans.

“A lot can happening a few hours.”

Uther produces her mobile phone from his pocket and calls Mordred’s number. He put the phone on speaker and slides it toward her. Then, he extracts a gun from inside his jacket and points it at her head.

“You will speak the words I order you to speak,” Uther says, looking her dead in the eye. “Is that understood?”

Morgana turns her head so the barrel of the gun touches the middle of her forehead. She looks up at Uther.

“Yes, sire,” she says.

Uther connects the phone to the speaker in the room and selects Mordred’s number from the contact list. Morgana desperately hopes he won’t pick up, but he answers on the second ring.

“Morgana! Thank the gods. I’ve been trying to reach you for almost an hour,” Mordred says, sounding terribly relieved.

“I’ve been occupied,” she answers. “Have you learned anything new about Emrys?”

He takes too long to answer.

“He knows,” Uther murmurs. “Say it.”

“Morgana,” Mordred says before she opens her mouth. “Emrys has come into his powers.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“You’re wrong about him,” Mordred says. His voice trembles. “You say he’ll bring ruin to Camelot, but I’m certain he won’t. He and Arthur can do incredible things for us. I’m absolutely certain of it.”

Uther nearly drops his gun at the mention of Arthur.

“Consider it, please, Morgana. There might be an easier way to get what we need without all the violence and bloodshed,” he insists.

“I can’t, Mordred,” she says coolly. “I won’t.”

“He knows who it is,” Uther says. He nudges her with the gun.

“Why are you protecting Emrys?” Morgana asks suddenly.

“Because he’s the one who can make this better,” Mordred insists.

“I’m pleased to hear you have such faith in my movement.”

“It’s not about that. This is a matter of fate, not faith. It has been foretold for centuries.”

“Tell me, Mordred, or I will force you,” she says. She jerks forward, desperate to get close to the phone, her chains rattling loudly. “Let go of your silly fantasies. He cannot give you what I can.”

“If it’s a fantasy, why do you fear him so much?”

“ _Tell me._ ”

“No. I am sorry, Morgana.”

He hangs up. Uther’s arm falls to his side, the gun disappearing into his jacket once more. He picks up her notebook and his own phone.

“Did you trace it? Find him. I’ll sign the arrest warrant when I get out.”

Uther hangs up.

“We’ll find your friend and he’ll talk. We will _make_ him talk.”

“The way you’ve made me?”

“We spared you from Aredian,” Uther replies. “Your friend will not be so fortunate.”

“You cannot win this, Uther,” Morgana say softly. Uther looks back at her, hovering near the door. “You think you have the upper hand, but right now, you are slipping, and you’ve just about fallen over that edge.”

There is a stretch of quiet in which Morgana cannot tell if the king is shocked or furious.

“What have I done to make you hate me so?” Uther finally asks.

“Is it so hard to believe? You’ve slaughtered my kind for over twenty years. You’ve treated us as less than human,” she says with vigor. She pauses, a cold calm coming over her as she meets his eyes. “You cannot begin to imagine how much I hate you.”

His silence cuts through the room. Eventually, Morgana looks at him again. His face changes from truly surprised to shuttered off completely, the last of his kindness dying before her eyes. He looks like stone to her.

“Very well,” he says. Uther turns on his heel and shuts the door quietly behind him, leaving Morgana to the deafening silence of the interrogation room and the buzz of the shackles suffocating her magic.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

The boy guides him out of the city, taking quiet roads all the way out an old exit only used by delivery trucks – one not at all well guarded by the night patrol in fact. Arthur drives out of Camelot City with ease and through the short stretch of open land before hitting the treeline. The car sputters to a stop without him changing the gearshift or applying pressure on the brakes. He parks on the sloping curve.

“Come,” the boy says. He appears by Arthur’s window. Arthur opens the door and follows him down the side of the road into the unruly grass. The boy takes his hand and guides him into the pitch darkness of the forest.

Somewhere deep in his mind, Arthur knows he shouldn’t be there. He knows something isn’t quite right, but his whole head feels like it’s been wrapped in cotton and it’s rather comfortable and warm. He doesn’t have to worry or think about anything beyond going where the boy is taking him.

It’s the only way he’ll be at peace, if he goes – either of them. This much Arthur knows.

Arthur swallows nervously and takes longer, surer steps.

The thick trees begin to open up as he catches sight of a dim orange glow further within. He’s drawn forward like a moth to a flame. Suddenly the ground drops and Arthur’s in the center of a clearing before a tall fire. He spins around, searching for the boy, but he’s vanished. The spaces between the trees lining the copse, however, are dense and dark with unmoving shapes, watching him. He can feel them watching the sweat roll down the side of his face.

Arthur’s hands shake as he holds them up.

“I’m here. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

The shadows rustle. The druid boy steps out and stands on the other side of the fire. A few others whose faces Arthur vaguely recognizes closely follow him from the files on the raid. Arthur drops to his knees, a cold air on the back of his neck seemingly pushing him down.

“Our blood is on your hands, Arthur Pendragon,” an older girl says. “All of our blood is on your hands.”

A woman with bright blue eyes and lips red as blood steps out followed by the rest of the figures lurking in between the trees. They all watch him with utter disdain. Some are drenched in water, while others look like their skin has been blackened by fire. A woman Arthur’s age stands close to him; the scarlet rope burn on her neck is particularly prominent, the scars protruding on her skin starkly enough to cast shadows.

“These lives were lost because of you,” the red-lipped woman says, her voice silky smooth, snaking through the cotton around Arthur’s head and coiling up between his ears, “because your father was so desperate to secure his claim to the throne of Camelot. You’ve followed quite nicely in his footsteps, Arthur. You must be very proud.”

“I was wrong,” he chokes out. Arthur’s whole body shakes, the ground seeming to shake under his knees. “You’re right about all of it. I’m responsible for what happened in the raid. I ordered my men not to hurt anyone, not to kill, to spare women and children, but they ignored me. I… I froze. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You should never have agreed to lead the raid in the first place,” a voice in the crowd cries out.

“I was confused! I made a terrible decision in a last attempt to prove myself and please… and please the king,” Arthur says. He takes in a slow breath that makes his whole body tremble. “I am still responsible for what happened to you.”

The woman stalks around the fire, moving closer to Arthur. He can feel the terrifying magic on her crackling like the fire itself. Her brow is furrowed, and her mouth is tense, her hands curled into fists with bright white knuckles. Arthur struggles to take in enough air at once; his head spins and his vision starts to cloud up.

“I can still hear the screams. I cannot right this wrong. Nothing I can ever do will change the horrors that happened that day!” he goes on. He barely has the strength to reach up and wipe the tears off his face as they trail down his neck, so he lets them fall. “I promise you I’m _not_ my father. I’ve made a terrible mistake, but I know now how unjustly people with magic have been treated. I know the crimes my father has committed against your people. When I am king, I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to fix this. True druids and sorcerers alike will be treated with the respect and given the rights they deserve – I give you my word.”

The woman reaches him. She looks oddly confused when she reaches out. Arthur feels her cold fingers touch his cheek lightly. Then, there’s a puff of wind, and she’s gone. Arthur looks around wildly. The figures of the dead slowly disappear, leaving only the living – the true druids, going by their clothing and the trademark triskelion tattoos Arthur spots.

He freezes when a knife slides across his neck, pressing just hard enough to draw blood. It slides hot and thick down toward his collarbone right over the fluttering pulse on his neck. Another hand grabs a fistful of hair and yanks his head back.

“I am truly sorry for what happened to you,” Arthur says, breathing harshly now.

The hand in his hair pulls more tightly.

“It’s too late for apologies,” the woman behind him hisses. The voice sounds familiar. “Tonight, we put an end to all of this.”

She reaches for his hand and places it over hers on the hilt of the blade.

“Wait!” someone in the crowd shouts. “It’s _Emrys_ , Kara – did you not feel his power?”

Pure quiet falls over the crowd as the mention of Emrys, whoever he is. A man with a placid face and wavy white hair steps out. His voice halts Arthur’s reedy breath.

“His time is coming. We who still believe in the prophecies of the old days have every reason to support Emrys,” the man says, his voice older than that of the one who spoke up first.

_Emrys?_

Arthur can feel his pulse beating against the blade of the knife. His ears feel dulled to everything but the two druids arguing. He can’t even hear his own thoughts – it’s as of the cotton’s being held firmly in place by a hand like the knife on his throat – and it only terrifies Arthur further.

“Emrys is but a dream. His powers may have come forth but it means very little. He is destined to align with a _Pendragon_ ,” she spits.

“Isn’t that what you’ve done already? Align with Morgana?” Arthur asks without thinking. The knife presses down harder and he gasps.

“She isn’t like you and Uther,” Kara says. “She won’t turn her back on her kin, not the way Emrys already has.”

“Allow him the chance to—”

“To what, Iseldir? Come forth? Emrys is a coward. He won’t fight for us!” she says.

“I will stand with Emrys. I can feel him near. He is in Camelot City at the heart of all of this,” Iseldir replies. The druids around them begin to murmur.

“Enough!” Kara shouts. “We have a job to do.”

“Don’t!”

The desperate yet clear, reverberating voice comes from somewhere over their heads.

“What—”

Something heavy crashes through the branches just outside the clearing. Arthur takes advantage of Kara’s grip on the knife loosening and takes a good look around. He’s surrounded, but it’s very clear that they’re divided on the matter of this Emrys fellow. Arthur _knows_ he has a chance, now that the fog around his head is finally beginning to lift – now that the crash cut right through it.

Someone hits the ground and stumbles through a bush, very loudly wincing at the impact. It might’ve been funny to Arthur, but for the blade on his throat. He quickly sees, however, that everyone in the copse has stilled, their backs straight and heads up as though they’re all listening to something Arthur can’t hear. Even Kara seems distracted.

Then Merlin – oh, _Merlin,_ Arthur mentally groans – trips through the trees into the clearing carrying the prop broom from the theater and shaking leaves and twigs out of his hair. He has a few cuts on his face and there’s a tiny trickle of blood streaking down his cheek, but Arthur doesn’t think he’s felt so happy to see anyone in his life, battered and ridiculous as he looks.

Merlin looks up from the ground, catches Arthur’s eye briefly, making his heart _race_ and his face flush inexplicably, then looks around at the crowd of true druids. His countenance changes completely – he draws himself up to full height and looks… powerful. It’s striking, even, the way he holds himself, the way they all pay him rapt attention and respect.

Arthur can tell something must have happened, something had to have changed, but he can’t quite get over the fact it’s _really_ attractive, this awesome confidence Merlin exudes now.

“Let him go,” Merlin says. He looks back at Arthur and Kara. Her grip on the knife is lax now. “Please, Kara. Don’t make me fight you.”

“ _You?_ Fight me? Merlin, you’re – how the hell did you even get here?” she sputters.

“I flew,” he says, as though it’s totally normal. Arthur eyes the broom in his hand and bites back a laugh. If they make it through everything alive, he’s _never_ letting this one go.

“You have magic?” she asks suspiciously.

“Morgana didn’t tell you? Or Mordred? Maybe you’re not as important to the cause as you think,” he says, walking around the fire. “Morgana is wrong, Kara. I understand what you’ve gone through. I do. I’ve lost so much because of what Uther’s done, but I know there are better ways of fixing the past than killing Arthur.”

“You’re wrong,” she says. Arthur can hear the smile on her lips. “You know nothing, Merlin. This is what he and his father deserve _._ ”

“Right… let him go, now.”

“Not happening,” she says. She presses the knife down hard, only to swing it out with Arthur’s hand suddenly magically stuck to the hilt, the blade bound for the middle of Arthur’s body.

Before Arthur can blink, the knife is gone and falling loudly in the dirt several feet away. Arthur gasps for air and massages his throat, his hands, everything he can touch. Merlin falls to his knees and instantly pulls him into his arms.

“Oh god. Are you okay?” he asks, his voice tense. He takes Arthur’s face between his hands and searches him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. “Please tell me you’re alright.”

“I’m fine, Merlin,” Arthur says softly. He smiles as relief finally washes over him and he relaxes into Merlin’s arms. “What did you do?”

“She was going to kill you,” he murmurs.

Arthur pauses.

“Did you kill her?”

“I don’t think so, but… she won’t wake for a while.”

“Thank you,” Arthur whispers. “Truly.”

“I’m just happy you’re okay.”

“Did you really fly here on that thing?” he says, starting to snicker. Merlin slaps his side, just barely missing his arse. It sends an entirely inappropriate jolt through Arthur. He groans. “You’re going to drive me _mad_ , Merlin Ambrose.”

Arthur sits back on his heels and lets Merlin help him up. He’s embarrassingly shaky. He leans unabashedly on Merlin, winding an arm around his shoulder and lets Merlin tightly grip his waist. He completely forgets about their audience until the elder – Iseldir – speaks up.

“Ambrose? Merlin, you said?” he asks.

Merlin nods.

“Son of Hunith and Balinor?”

Merlin tenses beside him.

“Yes,” he says. “They mentioned our name came from the druids.”

“Indeed,” Iseldir says faintly. “They came to use for help when your mother found herself with child while they ran from Camelot. We provided them with a name that fit the signs and the stars of the day and the words of our prophecies.”

“What does that mean?”

“Ambrose is a derivation of Emrys, which comes from the language of the Old Religion.”

“That’s the second time I’ve heard that tonight,” Merlin says, frowning. “Mordred said that’s who I am.”

Everyone around them suddenly begins to whisper.

“What the hell is going on, Merlin?” Arthur hisses.

“Haven’t a fucking clue,” he says out of the corner of his mouth. Arthur snorts and shakes his head.

“Then it is true,” Iseldir smiles. He approaches them both with open arms, stopping short and clapping his hands together.

“What is?”

“Our oldest prophecies are already coming true.”

“How can you tell?”

“I think it’s quite clear. They speak of a union of Camelot and magic, of Emrys and the Once and Future King,” Iseldir explains. “Together, you will bring about a better future for the land of Albion. It seems that we are already on this path.”

Iseldir bows his head slightly, glancing at their clasped hands.

“I’m just Merlin,” he says in plain disbelief. “My magic was utter crap until about an hour ago.”

Iseldir stands up straight and gives Merlin a sad smile.

“You were never destined to be _just Merlin_. You haven’t been that since you met the prince, in fact. You are Emrys.”

“I’m Merlin _Ambrose_.”

“Ambrose, Emrys, it is all the same to us – the name was given to you to protect you, and to expose you. It is both a shield and a sword, a secret and a title,” Iseldir says. “You have always been Merlin Emrys.”

Arthur doesn’t have a clue how to respond and Merlin doesn’t seem any more comprehending. He fights the urge to laugh at how endearing he looks when he’s so utterly confused. Iseldir visibly sobers.

“The king is in danger. Nimueh has gone to execute the last of their plans,” Iseldir says. The blood draws from Arthur’s face.

“Why would you want us to help him now, after all he’s done to you and your people?” Arthur asks.

“Because you are better people than your father and your sister will ever be, Arthur,” Iseldir says, fixing his glassy eyes on Arthur. “We have faith in that.”

“No pressure,” Merlin mutters. Arthur pinches his arm and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at Merlin’s little jump.

“Where are they?” Arthur asks, looking at Iseldir. His pale hair reflects the orange firelight.

“The palace.”

“They plan to kill him?”

“Yes. You must act quickly if you are to stop the Priestesses.”

“And then?”

“You will have other problems, but take it one matter at a time,” Iseldir says with a soft smile. “Go. You have little time to spare.”

Merlin’s already starting to lead them out of the clearing when Iseldir calls out,

“Arthur.”

He turns back.

“These times will not be the easiest for you. Should you fear for anything, you or Emrys, know that you are welcome among us always,” he says.

Arthur again has no idea how to respond, nor can he with the curious lump in his throat stopping all intelligent sounds from being made. He nods jerkily and lets Merlin drag him away.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Merlin asks worriedly, pausing just outside the clearing. He runs his hands over Arthur’s torso for good measure. Arthur shivers.

“I’m more than okay, Merlin,” Arthur says. “Whatever magic bound me ended the moment you arrived. I think… I think your magic’s been protecting me from what they were trying to do to me all this time.”

“Really?”

“Only when I was with you did I feel okay in the last few days. I though it was just… because you’re _you_ ,” Arthur says, “but I think it’s your magic, too.”

“My magic and me are finally on the same page, it seems,” Merlin sighs.

“What happened?”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Try.”

“You know how Morgana came into her powers?”

Arthur couldn’t forget the day even if he tried. Her rage and pain and the destruction her magic wrought in an effort to stabilize was terrifying to witness; it was horrifying to watch it consume Morgana. The look on Merlin’s face confirms his ordeal.

“You’re okay now,” Arthur says, his voice falling quiet.

“Yeah. I feel better.”

Arthur squeezes Merlin’s hand, swiping his thumb across the back. Merlin sighs and shuts his eyes.

“We need to go,” he murmurs. Arthur nods, his stomach turning at the idea of what’s to come next. They start to walk, and when the druids are far behind them, they set off at a jog.

“Tell me you drove out here.”

“What, the broom isn’t a two-seater?”

“Oh, it’d hold us,” Merlin says, shooting Arthur a smile as he almost trips over a tree root, “but it’s pretty uncomfortable. I don’t think you’d like it.”

“Maybe we’ll try it someday, when we’re not on a mission.”

“We can fly to Elena’s sometime. I’m sure she’d love that.”

“Oh, yeah. She’d want to race us on her horses.”

“I’m starting to think we’ll need to make a list of things to do when….”

“When all this is done,” Arthur finishes. Merlin nods.

“Maybe we’ll have a proper date, too.”

“We’ve had dates!” Arthur protests.

“Yeah, with your mates from work, or at the pub when we were still just friends,” Merlin laughs. “Those don’t really count.”

“Do you want me to wine and dine you, Merlin?” Arthur grinned. Merlin ducked his head, his ears turning bright red, even in the darkness. “I’ll take you to the nicest restaurant in Albion. We’ll have anything you like.”

“You know I can’t afford that. I haven’t even got clothes for that sort of thing!” Merlin says, his happiness at the very thought warming Arthur to the core. “Can’t we order take away from the nicest restaurant in Albion and watch a movie instead?”

“If that’s what you want,” Arthur says, starting to laugh now, too.

“Maybe we’ll get to your bedroom this time and _not_ fall asleep before things get interesting. There are so many things I want to do to you, Arthur Pendragon. It’d make your head spin,” Merlin states. Arthur stumbles. Merlin cackles.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“You love it, don’t you?”

“All right, it’s true. I love you.”

Merlin stops jogging abruptly. Arthur nearly crashes into him as he turns around, and Merlin swiftly backs him up against a tree with a hard, full-mouthed kiss. Arthur gasps and melts into him instantly, his hands grasping at Merlin’s sides under his shirt very quickly. Merlin curves away slightly at the cold touch of his fingers, his lips sliding off Arthur’s; Arthur presses his whole palms to his skin and draws him close with his hands on the small of his back. Merlin absolutely _radiates_ heat and kisses him hungrily, wrenching control right out of Arthur’s hands, working his own long fingers onto Arthur’s skin. Arthur arches and lets Merlin move his mouth from his lips to a very sensitive spot just under the corner of his jaw. Arthur squirms and Merlin smiles.

“I love you, too. God, I’m so happy you’re okay,” he says, his soft lips curving into a smile in the hollow of Arthur’s cheek, his voice rough with want. “We’re on a rescue mission again. We can’t—”

Arthur gently pushes Merlin back and shakes himself, nodding briskly.

“Let’s just add that to the list of things to do when shit calms down, yeah?”

“I seriously hope you don’t mean to stay celibate until we’re—”

“Uhm, _no_. Honestly, Merlin, it’s a miracle I’ve abstained from ravaging you for this long,” Arthur says. Merlin blushes deep red and he turns away.

“Come on,” he mumbles, keeping several paces ahead of Arthur.

His heart hammers at the thought of being too late and Morgana beating them, of not knowing how to save his father, or even how to handle his father if they manage to save him, but Merlin looks back over his shoulder at the edge of the forest and smiles at him warmly, equal parts relief and nerves. Arthur’s car is visible beyond the trees.

_Palace. Uther. Morgana. Nimueh. Before it’s too late._

In the car Merlin’s hand claps on his own where it rests on the gearshift. It stills, and Arthur realizes he’d been shaking ever so slightly.

“We can do this. It’s our destiny, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, his throat dry with anticipation again. Merlin leans over and presses his lips to Arthur’s cheek. His eyelashes brush his skin as he lingers. Arthur feels a knot of tension in his chest loosen; he exhales.

“Come on. We can’t waste any more time.”

He propels Arthur’s mind right back to full power. He looks up at the road: the turrets of Camelot loom over the iron skeletons of buildings not yet built and the dilapidated factories along the dusty outskirts of the city. Arthur realizes just how different the city looks from out here – it’s hardly the utopia it pretends to be on the inside. But the towers are the same, as are the Pendragon red flags blowing in the wind on their peaks. Arthur feels the true Camelot, a mix of the turrets and the iron, come into focus. _This_ is the city he knows, the heart of the country he’ll someday rule.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks, his voice ever so slightly tremulous.

“I’m going,” he says softly.

He hones in on the flags again.

_There._

Arthur drives away at a breakneck pace.


	20. March of the Witch Hunters, Part Two

**Morgana**

 

There’s a commotion outside Morgana’s door. She finally lifts her head from where she managed to pillow it somewhat comfortably on her arms on the table and blinks blearily. It’s late, certainly past midnight, ages since they brought her food, hours since Uther left her to fester.

The door bangs open. Kay and Lance walk in and unlock her chain from where it’s attached to the table.

“Where are you taking me?” she demands.

“To a cell for the night,” Lance replies. “It’ll be as comfortable as we can make it.”

“Does it come with four-star dining and feather pillows? Maybe rewards points for staying a few nights in a row?” Morgana says shrilly. Kay yanks on the chain and she stumbles down the hall.

“Watch it!” she snarls.

“Stop talking,” Kay snaps. “You’re not a princess right now. You’re a prisoner who’ll be found guilty of treason come morning.”

“Oh, I get a fair trial! How comforting!”

“Morgana, please,” Lance murmurs, slowing ever so slightly. “It’s not helping.”

“Nothing I can do will help me now. I’m beyond hope of redemption in all your eyes, aren’t I?”

“You’ve made it so, witch,” Kay says.

“Call me that again.”

Kay says nothing.

 _Good. He should fear me,_ she thinks. Then a blindfold obscures her eyes. She writhes against the hands tying the knot only to be nearly knocked to the ground.

“What the fuck – don’t _touch_ me!” she roars.

“Orders, my lady,” Kay’s voice says lazily. She growls furiously as they walk through a doorway. The floor feels smooth and cold; her shoes impacting the ground echo as she walks.

She hears keys jangling and one fitting into a lock, then a door opening. She’s led inside. A different lock clicks in place and her chain drops to the floor loudly.

“I’ll settle her in. Go back to your work,” says Lance. He doesn’t move until Kay’s footsteps fade away.

Lance removes the blindfold with gentle hands. Morgana very nearly bites him. He looks at her a little madly.

“Morgana, tell me one thing – do _you_ think you’re beyond redemption?”

She blinks at him.

“Fuck that,” she says, carefully enunciating the vowels. “I don’t want to be redeemed. I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“You’ve caused many people to be hurt, and most of them were your own!” Lance says, eyes flashing.

“They – they weren’t supposed to end up like that,” she falters.

“But?”

“Meleagant was ready for them,” she sighs, dropping onto the curiously soft pallet. She rests her head on the heels of her palms. “You know what it’s like in there now.”

“Have you seen what it’s like out _here_ , in Camelot?” Lance says, dropping his voice, dropping to his knees next to Morgana. “It’s a new Purge. The king was waiting for your people to strike – he has been waiting for an excuse to execute a plan he’s had in the works for over twenty years!”

“And I handed it to him,” Morgana eventually says. Lance says nothing. It only angers Morgana further. “How was I to know? I did what I felt was right! I _had_ to do something! I – Uther doesn’t deserve the crown, the way he murders his own people!”

“I never said otherwise,” he says in a quiet voice. Morgana looks at him wildly.

“Why on earth do you care?”

“I told you already,” Lance says, looking up at her. “Gwen loved you dearly once. She hates what you’ve chosen to do but… I hope you might make some better decisions in the future. I want to give you the chance to do that.”

“How?” she scoffs.

“I’ll find a way to get you out,” Lance says. “Gwen and I are leaving tomorrow night anyway.”

“You don’t know what’s about to happen,” she says. She feels a sick thrill at the knowledge that she could still win this. “Camelot is about to change forever.”

“ _Yes_ , it is – Uther is about to arrest all people with magic and anyone remotely suspicious in the name of finding information on those who planned to murder the royal family,” Lance hisses.

“What?” Morgana gasps. “No – he knows it’s me. He has all the information he needs in that book!”

“Do you think that matters to him? He’s the king.”

“He’s utterly mad.”

“Yes, so bending the law to his will won’t be a moral problem for him,” Lance says gravely. “Do you see why I’m offering, Morgana? He isn’t going to make a scapegoat of you. He will lock you away forever, claiming the insurgents carried you away and killed you in the night! He might even turn your into a martyr for _his_ cause. You’ll likely be stuck in here indefinitely.”

Morgana looks up from her hands and stares at Lance. She feels like he’s so far away from her; instead crusts of cold air are settling rapidly on her skin. She tries to breathe in deeply, but her lungs feel tight and shriveled. Lance’s hands twitch where they’re folded over his knee.

“I’m giving you the chance to fight another day,” Lance presses.

“You can’t do that.”

“I can. I will, if you swear to me one thing,” says Lance. She raises an eyebrow at him. “Swear to me you won’t hurt Gwen. If she’s in your cross-hairs or even gets caught in the crossfire….”

“I’m certain you’d do everything in your power to avenge her,” Morgana says, wrinkling her nose. “You’ve always been disgustingly noble. But I promise you, I never meant for Gwen to be hurt.”

Lance looks mildly confused.

“I would never hurt her, Lance,” she says firmly. “I promise it won’t happen.”

“And what about the rest of us? Like Merlin and Arthur?”

Morgana looks away. She can’t stop the smile on her face as it forms, but it doesn’t feel right. It feels like someone else is tugging at her lips while her chest only feels emptier than ever.

“What’s wrong? What’s going to happen?” Lance asks, panic edging into his voice.

“It’s not worth mentioning now. It’s already done,” she says. _Probably._

“You don’t sound very happy about it,” he says warily.

“I can’t be sure I accomplished what I needed,” she replies. _Emrys could still be a threat, even without Arthur, if Mordred’s right._ She holds her arms more tightly to her chest, digging her nails into her flesh.

Lance stands, brushing off his uniform. He makes a striking silhouette against the dim light streaming through the doorway.

“I won’t revoke the offer yet,” he says, “but if you give me a reason, I will.”

“I’m not sure why you’ve given it to me in the first place,” she says coolly.

“I told you before – we all matter,” he replies, “and I think you might yet get what you want. It might not be the way you want it to happen, but you could be around to see a better Camelot. It’s your choice.”

He turns on his heel and walks into the hall. Lance reaches back and pulls the door shut, enveloping Morgana in dank darkness in the small cell. It’s oddly comfortable with a decent mattress and pillows on the pallet and a clean sink. The floor is rough with grime nonetheless. Morgana curls up on her side facing the sliver of moonlight squeezing through the space under the door. She shivers and shuts her eyes as her stomach churns in turmoil.

\---

She wakes to the sound of a struggle outside. It’s morning, judging by the brightness of the light coming under the door, interrupted by scuffling shadows.

“I have the right to know the charges!”

 _Mordred_.

“Your rights are quite minimal now,” someone unfamiliar replies.

“You know why you’re here,” says another – Kay, by the sound of it.

“Hold _still_.”

Mordred struggles loudly.

“Argh! What the – why can’t I see where—?”

“It’s a blindfold, sorcerer,” someone spits. “Now _move_.”

The sounds fade and Morgana’s left to face her growing fury in the total silence of the cell. She drops back onto the pillow and buries her face in its vaguely unsavory smell.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

“Where are we going?”

“To where the dungeons used to be,” Arthur replies. “Shut up for a minute, will you?”

“Prat,” Merlin says, sticking his tongue out. Arthur rolls his eyes and edges closer to the corner of the hallway. “Why are we going there again?”

“They just brought someone in!” says Arthur.

“Why would Uther be down there? Doesn’t your father have bigger things to deal with than prisoners?”

“Not today,” Arthur says. “Didn’t you see any of the news channels in the screens on the way in?”

“No?”

“Honestly, Merlin, you have no self-preservation skills,” he says, shaking his head. “All the headlines are saying there were insurgents trying to break into the palace last night. The DoME officers on guard apparently stopped them and uncovered a plot to assassinate my father.”

“Oh, wow. That’s huge.”

“You’d miss an exploding building if it were under your nose.”

“Thanks, Arthur. So, what, you don’t buy it?”

“No. I know the protocol, remember? They wouldn’t put that kind of info out unless they’d neutralized the threat. This is one hell of a cover-up, or a way of drawing targets out,” Arthur says, shaking his head.

“Right… so you want to check where there are tons of officers and armed guards first, rather than, say, the throne room?”

“Why the hell would my father be in the throne room?”

“Because of _that_.”

Arthur turns his head fast enough to make his neck crack, but it’s worth it. Uther emerges from the dungeons with no one other than the official speechwriter. Their heads are close in deep conversation, and the speechwriter looks beyond harried.

It’s a well-known fact that all official proclamations are made from the throne room for televised broadcast and radio transmission.

Arthur suddenly turns around, searching for a place to hide, but Merlin takes his hand. A tingle of cool air brushes over his skin. When he looks at Merlin, he catches vibrant gold fading from his eyes.

Uther and the speechwriter walk right past them.

When they’ve disappeared into the North Wing, where the staterooms are, Merlin lets a long breath out and releases Arthur’s hand. The tingling fades away.

“That was….”

“Close,” Merlin exhales. He launches himself off the wall. “Well, we know Uther’s still alive. We need to find out why.”

“Hold on,” Arthur says, looping his arm through Merlin’s and swinging him right back with too much force, sending him right into Arthur’s arms.

“We,” Arthur says, resisting the urge to kiss the tiny frown off Merlin’s face, “need a _plan_ , Merlin. We can’t just run in there and improvise. That’s why my father has been so successful.”

“Because he has twenty years of plans on us,” Merlin nods. “But we’ll be fine. We’re a two-man army. We can take on Uther and his _actual_ army.”

“Merlin.”

“Shut up?”

“Brilliant, you are,” Arthur says. He pecks Merlin’s cheek before slipping away and waving for Merlin to follow. He knows just where they can plan, and exactly where to start.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

She rouses from uneasy sleep late in the morning at the sound of a strident, familiar alarm.

_“King Uther Pendragon will address the Kingdom of Camelot at 1100 hours.”_

Morgana sits up. Her cold iron chains rattle. The sound makes her shiver. She listens to the sound of guards walking briskly away from their posts, making their way to the courtyard, dutifully following protocol, however archaic and nonsensical it may be. Morgana scoffs and throws herself back onto the bed, screwing her eyes shut.

“He’s still alive,” she murmurs. “Why is he still alive?”

She waits for the speech.

When it comes, it doesn’t announce the death of Arthur Pendragon. Rather, Uther describes a violent attack on the palace last night that caused loss of life on both sides and resulted in attempt on his own life, prevented due only to the skill of Camelot’s finest. Panic bubbling in her throat freezes in its place, obstructing her airways, when Uther continues.

_“My ward and half-daughter Morgana Pendragon was kidnapped by the insurgents in the chaos of the attack last night. I will do everything in my power to find her and avenge this grievous attack on our home. I ask you, citizens of Camelot, if you have information of any kind regarding the insurgents and their activities, or about the ones who call themselves the Priestesses, come forward, and you will be both protected and rewarded.”_

Morgana realizes she fell to her knees at some point while Uther spoke when her legs start to tremble. The floor is cold and tangibly grimy on her skin, but Morgana hardly registers it. All she can feel is the heat leaving her skin, the cold of the cell that’s about to become her permanent home, because _Lance was right_.

Morgause. Morgause and Nimueh are her only hope now. Morgana squeezes her eyes shut.

Only when she hears a door loudly burst open does she open them again. She rises quickly and goes as close to the door as her chains allow. She strains to see through the crack in the floor, but she does hear two people run down the hall and down toward the interrogation rooms.

“Hello?” she calls. Her voice comes out in an intermittent rasp. The footsteps falter not far from her.

“Someone said something.”

 _Nimueh_.

“We can’t stay now. We need to get Mordred and get out.”

_Morgause._

“Please,” Morgana calls, her voice clear and loud now, but the cell – the bloody _chains_ – restricts her still.

Their footsteps fade away.

Morgana meets the floor readily when it finds her, uncaring that her cheek is pressed against the filthy stones. Her heart pounds in her ears. She stares at a patch on the wall near the ground in confusion, trying to keep from feeling pain or hurt or betrayal, but it’s startlingly hard.

 _They know where I am. They must._ _Mordred will tell them._

Morgana slowly pulls herself to the bed. By the time she gets there, the dull static of the transmission continues to play over the speakers, but no words come out. She frowns, but it doesn’t really matter. She waits, heart still beating rapidly, for Morgause and Nimueh to return.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

“This is a horrible plan,” Merlin says. Arthur jostles him lightly.

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Merlin,” Arthur says with a toothy grin. His gaze is hard and fixed on the guards still lined up in the courtyard.

“I haven’t tried any _real_ magic, Arthur. This could go really terribly wrong. What if I—”

“Merlin,” he interrupts, turning and grabbing Merlin by the shoulders. He gives him a little shake that’s somehow miraculously reassuring. “I know you’re scared. This isn’t what you’re trained to do.”

“I have a degree in Literature,” he mumbles.

“You’ve got me.”

“That’d be more comforting if we weren’t splitting up now. Are you sure this will work?”

“No,” Arthur says grimly, “but it’s the best shot we’ve got. You know where to go when it’s done, right?”

Merlin nods. He has a very clear mental image of the route through the palace Arthur had outlined for him.

“And if something goes wrong?” Merlin asks.

“We make for the hills and hope Iseldir will keep his word,” Arthur replies. The guards in the courtyard start to mobilize. “That’s our cue.”

Arthur leans in and kisses Merlin’s forehead, pressing dry lips just above his eyebrow. Merlin breathes him in just as he pulls away and disappears around the corner, leaving him feeling small and bereft.

He squares his shoulders. Merlin turns to the window. Just beyond the palace gates is an old building that’s long been evacuated. He reaches for it and feels the flimsy foundation and aching beams holding the structure up. The walls shake under his attention alone.

He barely lets any magic out before the building explodes in waves of fire and smoke. Debris hit the window through which Merlin watches. All the guards from the courtyard turn to the explosion, followed by more streaming out of the palace. Merlin waits until they’re through the gates to lock them and run to the next phase of their plan.

_“Citizens of Camelot.”_

Arthur’s voice fills the empty halls of the palace, like it’s part of the white walls washed in midday light. Merlin pauses and listens to him echo.

_“This is Prince Arthur Pendragon. I know my father has just addressed you all and I’m being rather unorthodox, but it is the only way I can tell you that Camelot is in danger, and not from sorcerers or insurgents or anyone like that. In fact, these are the people in the greatest danger. I want to warn everyone to leave the city while you can.”_

A door shuts loudly somewhere behind Merlin. He sets off at a run again.

_“I first joined the Department of Magical Enforcement for the sole purpose of protecting citizens of Camelot with magic. I saw for myself how difficult life was for sorcerers and how much you’ve suffered at the hands of the Pendragon regime. Lately, however, I’ve had my eyes opened. Life is not only difficult but impossible when your king plots against you.”_

Merlin blasts the entrance to the dungeons with magic. He sprints down the stairs, locking the door behind him as an afterthought. He stops at the foot of the steps to catch his breath and listens. He hears nothing.

He’s at the end of a long cold hallway with marble floors and narrow windows near the ceiling on one side. Opposite the windows is a wall with many, many doors. Merlin tentatively reaches for one. The knob shocks his skin and makes his magic bristle. He forces it open – revealing a sparse, empty cell.

_“I am addressing you now to formally state my support for the magical community. Magic is not inherently evil, and nor are the people who can use it. As your future king, I promise I will do everything in my power to end this time of fear and persecution. I will end this Purge once and for all. I know I’ll attract many enemies like this, particularly from within King Uther’s council and cabinet, but I am certain that the people of Camelot will stand with me.”_

The door at the far end opens. Merlin jumps, prepared to hide in the cell, when he sees a familiar, terrified face.

“Merlin!” Lance cries. There’s blood on his face when Merlin meets him halfway down the hall.

“What’s happening?”

“They’re here. Morgause and Nimueh.”

Merlin stumbles.

“They’re supposed to be going after Uther.”

“They’re after Mordred right now,” says Lance. “Uther had him brought in this morning. Mordred’s locked in the interrogation room. It’s warded against magic and I have the key, but given what Uther wants from the boy….”

“What?”

“It’s a long story,” Lance says, shaking his head. “Listen – Morgana is here.”

“She is? Uther said—”

“A lie.”

“I figured, but—”

“He’s not planning on letting her see the light of day again, Merlin. I think… I want to take her with me and Gwen when we leave tonight,” Lance says. Merlin stops walking altogether.

“She tried to have Arthur murdered, Lance.”

Lance stares at him.

“I take it the plan failed,” he says.

“I got there just in time.”

Relief washes over Lance’s face.

“I want to believe Morgana’s not lost to us but….”

“Gwen is her soft spot,” Lance says firmly. “I know we can still get through to her. I was in interrogation with her all last night. I have a strong feeling about this.”

“If you’re sure… then do it.”

It leaves Merlin with a bitter taste, but in Merlin’s heart, beyond the fury he feels when he remembers how utterly helpless Arthur was at Kara’s mercy _on Morgana’s orders_ , he trusts Lance more than he hates what Morgana has done.

Merlin quickly tells Lance where to take her.

“Gaius is here, too, Merlin,” Lance says suddenly, just as Merlin’s about to turn away.

“Where?”

Lance opens a cell three down from where they stand.

_“The last thing I want is to divide Camelot and force its people to choose between my father and me, but regardless of who you choose, when I inherit the throne – for my father is far from immortal – know that this is where I stand. I stand for the people of Camelot – all of them.”_

The transmission cuts off abruptly.

Merlin, startled by the sudden stark silence, looks into the cell at the sound of Gaius’s quiet voice.

“Merlin,” he croaks.

Merlin rushes forward and pulls Gaius to his feet and into a tight, warm hug. He pours magic into him, enough to shatter the chains around his wrists and bring some color back to his face. Gaius relaxes in Merlin’s arms.

“Thank goodness you’re okay,” Gaius says softly.

“Me? What about you?”

“I’m a strong man, Merlin. You needn’t worry,” he says with a wry smile.

“Go with Lance. He’ll get you to safety.”

“Merlin? I need you for one last thing,” Lance calls from the hall. Merlin helps Gaius out of the cell and walks down to where Lance stands before another door. “It’s Morgana’s cell. I need you to break her chains.”

Merlin’s stomach churns at the thought, but he steels himself and nods. Lance opens the door.

Morgana looks so small, curled up on the bed, her eyes glassy when she finally looks at them in the doorway. She sits up slowly.

“Merlin,” she murmurs. “I take it Arthur’s alive and well.”

“Yes,” he says. He takes a deep breath. “Hold still, Morgana.”

She shuts her eyes and her body tenses visibly. She angles her face away from him, retreating from the light.

Afterwards, when the chains disintegrate like a brittle layer of dust, Merlin is quite proud he wasn’t even remotely tempted to hurt her, to make her pay for what she tried to do to Arthur – not when her fear is so plain, and her desperation so all-consuming – not when Merlin understands precisely how she feels: alone, her true self rejected by all, left alone by those she thought would be by her side.

He sees with total clarity what really happened.

“Do you want to stay here, Morgana?” Merlin asks.

“No.”

“Morgause and Nimueh are in the palace,” he says. “They’re currently trying to save Mordred.”

“I know,” she says. “They must’ve realized he knows about Emrys.”

Merlin’s heartbeat stutters.

“Emrys? Why?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Merlin turns to Lance.

“Get Gaius out. If Morgana wants to leave, take her, too.”

Merlin touches the side of Lance’s head and transfers a mental image of the path he needs to take. Lance blinks blearily at him, his cheeks flushed from the magic, before springing into action.

Morgana catches his sleeve just as he’s about to leave the cell.

“Why would you help me now?” she asks. Merlin looks at her and feels a rush of sadness and an undercurrent of anger. Sadness wins out.

“I’m just doing what’s right, damn the consequences, just like you told me once. If you decide to turn on us again—”

“I trust you’ll deal with me appropriately.”

“I will,” Merlin vows. Morgana stands a little straighter and meets Merlin’s eye. He sees something there just shy of respect, tainted by wariness. She releases his sleeve.

Gaius warns him to be careful, but Merlin’s already on his way through the door, the key to the interrogation room heavy in his pocket. When he rounds a corner, he sees a disaster zone, the hall covered in dust and debris, Morgana and Nimueh pummeling the perfectly intact door with enough magic to take the palace down. Merlin approaches them slowly.

“Stop,” he says.

Morgause instantly stops, startling at the sound of his voice. Nimueh only eases up when Morgause leaves her side.

“Merlin,” she says, her voice smooth, her smile deadly and cold. “What are you doing?”

“Had a few errands to run,” he says with a half-shrug.

“And you wandered down here? How curious. It’s time for you to leave, then.”

“I don’t think so,” Merlin says, gingerly removing Morgause’s clawed hand from his shoulder. Her eyes flash orange and magic strikes Merlin, but it’s more of a puff of air than the terrible gust Morgause clearly intended it to be. Her expression falters.

“Your magic—”

“Decided to start working, yes. Now back off the door.”

“Who is this?” Nimueh asks, stalking forward, her tattered dress trailing behind her.

“Merlin. He’s no one.”

“A sorcerer,” Nimueh muses. “A very powerful one, at that.”

“You have no idea,” Merlin mutters. “Have you forgotten about Morgana?”

“Morgana is gone,” Nimueh replies calmly. “Uther’s men took her.”

“You can’t seriously be letting this go,” Merlin says, looking to Morgause, who won’t meet Merlin’s eye. “You love her.”

“I did. I haven’t for a long time,” Morgause replies. “We only made a good team in the end.”

“So you’ve abandoned her.”

“She’s likely on her way to Meleagant by now.”

“She wasn’t. She was in a cell until about ten minutes ago.”

If Merlin hoped to elicit some reaction or change of heart from Morgause, he was terribly disappointed.

“I’m glad,” she says nonchalantly. “I never wished to see her harmed.”

“We do things our way now,” Nimueh says, her red lips splitting into a wide smile. Morgause seems relatively pleased, too. Merlin instantly sets a defensive stance.

“Leave. Both of you. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

They both laugh at his words.

“Merlin, you couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Kara is dead,” he says coldly. It’s only half a bluff. “I killed her for trying to kill Arthur, and she isn’t the first to die at my hand.”

Morgause’s eyes widen a fraction.

“What is it you want from Mordred?” he asks, venturing a step forward. Morgause steps back, but Nimueh holds her ground, watching Merlin like a hawk.

“It doesn’t concern you.”

“No, I think it does. Emrys, right?”

“How did you—?”

Merlin takes a breath.

“That is what the druids call me. They’ve already taken my side – _Arthur’s_ side, in fact,” says Merlin. His heart thuds in his chest as the words tumble out.

Everything moves terribly quickly. Before Merlin can react, Nimueh is gone and Morgause is striking him with a blast of magic he isn’t prepared to take. He flies and hits the wall with a painful crack, the sort he hears but doesn’t feel immediately. Merlin rolls onto his side and moans as his body catches up with the impact.

Morgause steps over him and makes to escape.

“No,” he gasps.

Merlin releases his magic and focuses it precisely on her. She strikes the wall hard and crumbles, her hair falling in crisp ringlets around her head. Merlin rushes to her and turns her on her back. She looks up at him, the right side of her face bleeding badly and starting to swell.

“No!” he breathes. _I never meant for this._

“Go,” she rasps. Her eyes flash gold, but Merlin feels nothing. He touches the side of her face and can feel her magic fading rapidly.

“I can save you. Please, just – let me save you,” Merlin sputters. He starts pouring his magic into her, his heart pounding hard, his hands shaking as he searches for the best point on her body for the magic to enter, when she grabs his wrist in a surprisingly tight grip.

“I’ll die before I let you rule with Arthur.”

“Then let me save you! Fight another day!” Merlin says madly. “ _Please_ , Morgause.”

She spits in his face feebly.

Her body goes limp in Merlin’s arms. The magic he’d offered to her returns to him sluggishly. Cold settles on Merlin’s skin like the dirt on the floor.

Merlin places her gently on the ground, moving rubble out of the way to make space for Morgause’s body. Merlin stands and turns away.

Something in his chest trembles and threatens to rent him in two.

A banging in the interrogation room pulls Merlin back together, holds the sensation at bay. He unlocks the door and finds Mordred standing behind the overturned table, his wrists red from struggling against the manacles.

“Merlin,” he says. “Where are they?”

“Gone. I need to get to Nimueh before it’s too late.”

Merlin shatters Mordred’s cuffs. He jogs out of the room after Merlin.

“Morgause—”

“She’s dead,” says Merlin. “We need to go, Mordred.”

Mordred hurries after Merlin. When they’re in the hall of cells, Merlin turns around.

“Go to the Underground. Follow the route to the theater.”

“But—”

“I’ve already opened it. I destroyed the building over it and brought down the spell sealing the entrance,” Merlin explains. He cups Mordred’s face and gives him the information he needs. “Go.”

“What about Morgana?”

“She’s gone with us.”

“She’ll see you dead, Merlin,” he warns.

“We’ll deal with her later. Go, Mordred! I can’t waste any more time!”

Merlin turns and runs before Mordred can hold him up any longer. Merlin sprints through the empty palace to the throne room.

\---

Arthur’s going to kill him for running back into danger but damn it all – Nimueh is there. She stands before Uther, who kneels on the ground, held down by magic, his face twisted into a snarl.

Merlin skids to a stop behind a massive pillar and searches for Arthur, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“I’ve waited so long for this day,” Nimueh says, circling Uther as she speaks. He cranes his neck to watch, but the magic makes his neck visibly stiff. Merlin can see him shaking under the weight of the spell.

“As have I,” says Uther with effort. “I don’t think I expressed how much I despised you when we last met.”

“How considerate of you to clear that up, Uther,” she says sourly. She kneels slowly before Uther but stays at least half a head over Uther, forcing him to look up. “We were friends. I did what you asked of me because of that.”

“I should never have asked _you_.”

“As if any other sorcerer would have granted you your wish when you were so convinced you alone were impervious to the laws of magic!” she laughed harshly. “No. I was a fool for listening to you, and you were a fool for ignoring my warnings. For my mistakes you’ve persecuted my people and murdered so many in the name of revenge! Or at least that’s how I thought for a long time.

“It is not my mistake. It is yours for not listening when I told you black and white facts: magic that powerful always demands a price. There must be a balance.”

“I’ve not yet restored the balance, then,” Uther says calmly. “My loss is still heavier than any murders you say I’ve committed.”

“Your loss? It was your _first_ murder! You are the sole reason your wife died.”

“You will die, witch!” Uther snarls. “I won’t let you live this time.”

“No, I don’t think you would,” Nimueh says softly, “but I have other plans. I’ve waited a long time to cause you pain.”

Nimueh stands up.

“You will watch your son die, and then you will die very slowly,” she says, looking down at Uther. She seems absolutely delighted. “All of Camelot will see the shreds of the Pendragon dynasty. Your skin will fly like a flag over the courtyard.”

Nimueh looks around.

“I know Arthur is here. I can feel him. He has a curious connection with magic,” Nimueh says as she walks away from Uther, “but I think it’s the result of my magic giving him life.”

Nimueh pauses by a pillar near Merlin.

“Emrys,” she murmurs. She starts to laugh. “Come out and play, Emrys.”

She looks Merlin dead in the eye, and he has no choice but to step out and face her.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

“Merlin, _don’t_ ,” Arthur whispers, but it’s to no avail. Merlin walks out into the open anyway. Arthur bangs his head against the wall behind the throne where he hides. He looks back at the radio transmission station, which is currently in pieces from his father’s previous rage upon hearing his message to Camelot. There’s nothing that could help him, though.

Then Nimueh appeared and Arthur remained hidden, watching in horror as she struck a terrible blow to Uther’s chest and forced him to his knees.

“You are Emrys?” Uther says. His voice sounds a fraction weaker now.

“I am,” Merlin says.

“You’re the son of Hunith and Balinor.”

Merlin gazes at Uther impassively.

“I am.”

“Are you, now?” Nimueh says, sounding genuinely surprised. “They were once my friends.”

“I don’t think my mother would care for you now.”

“Your father was an understanding man.”

“My father is dead. I couldn’t do anything to save him then,” Merlin says harshly, “but I won’t let you murder Arthur’s father now.”

Nimueh’s eyes widen and she smiles. She paces toward Merlin.

“Don’t come any closer,” Merlin says. She halts.

“You confuse me, Emrys. I can feel your power. I know what you could do with it for people like us. We together could make Camelot a great place.”

“Just like you planned to do with Morgana before you left her to rot?” Merlin shoots back. “I would never join you.”

“Then why protect him?” she asks, jutting her chin at Uther, who watches their conversation with rapt interest.

Arthur itches to jump out and do _something_.

“Because he is Arthur’s father,” Merlin replies. “I won’t see him lose another loved one, no matter what Uther has done.”

“Your idealism is touching, Emrys, but you’ll soon see it’s not so easy,” Nimueh sighs. “Step aside.”

“Stand down,” Merlin counters calmly. He places himself between Nimueh and Uther.

Arthur edges out from behind the wall and walks silently down the steps before the throne. Uther’s eyes flick toward him, but Arthur pays him little attention. He’s focused on Merlin and Nimueh facing off like rival birds of prey, wings splayed out, beating and thrashing in the tension before the strike.

“You are a disappointment, Emrys,” she says, her smile mocking Merlin. “Whatever Kilgarrah and the druids told you is false. The Pendragons are good for nothing but death.”

Her eyes flash and Uther cries out. He keels onto his side, horrid, animalistic sounds leaking out of his mouth as he clutches his abdomen. Arthur rushes to him and tries to help him up. Uther slaps Arthur’s hands away.

There’s motion above Arthur’s head, but he doesn’t look up in time.

Arthur jumps at the crack of lightning. Intense heat fills the room. He shuts his eyes against the blinding light. He feels the weight of Merlin’s arm on Arthur’s shoulder as he falls to his knees, gasping for air. Arthur turns away from Uther and gathers Merlin up in his arms. Merlin readily folds into him, burying his face in Arthur’s shoulder.

“She’s dead,” he whispers, his breath tickling Arthur’s neck.

Arthur opens his eyes. There’s a scorchmark on the floor, and Nimueh is nowhere to be seen. He recognizes scraps of her red dress fluttering across the floor as the doors open. Guards file into the throne room in neat lines. Arthur jumps to his feet, hauling Merlin up with him and holding him behind him with his arms spread out.

Uther rises slowly with Kay’s help.

“Arrest them both,” Uther says.

Arthur looks at the guards, many of whom were in the DoME with Arthur.

“On what charges, sire?” one asks.

“Conspiracy and treason,” Uther replies calmly. “Murder, for the sorcerer.”

Again, no one moves.

Then, Leon pushes his way through the ranks, breaking the formation cleanly down the middle, and crosses the room to where Arthur and Merlin stand. He takes Merlin’s other arm and loops it around his neck. Merlin snorts softly and stands more upright.

Percival, Bedivere, and Pellinore shortly follow, forming a small unit around Arthur and Merlin.

“Arthur,” Uther says, turning to him now. Arthur is ready when Uther meets his eye with utter coldness and fury. “You cannot let this happen. Camelot will fall if you let it be divided this way.”

“You’ve done that already, father. By letting so many of our own suffer and die in the name of revenge and madness, you’ve already divided Camelot,” Arthur replies. “You did so long ago.”

“I’ve made Camelot strong.”

“Magic is at the heart of everything Camelot is,” Merlin wheezes, startling Arthur. “Arthur wouldn’t exist without it. You would have lost the kingdom long ago without magic, and you turned on something beautiful and natural. It can’t go on like this.”

Uther shakes free of Kay and starts at Merlin, but Arthur takes a step forward, daring him. Uther halts. His hand doesn’t leave the wound on his side.

“Guards – arrest them now.”

Arthur’s confidence grows with every officer that moves from the threshold to his side of the throne room. Uther watches his numbers shrink with impassivity until only Kay and three others remain by his side.

“I take it you didn’t plan for this, father,” Arthur says. He drops his eyes to the wound on Uther’s side. Uther lets his hand fall, revealing a deep red stain that shows no signs of receding.

“I can improvise,” he replies.

“The show must go on, after all,” Arthur says. Uther’s gaze sharpens, but Arthur won’t give him the chance to say another word.

He makes for the door with Merlin in tow and Leon on his other side. The rest of the officers follow Arthur out of the palace into the balmy evening air. Merlin hangs onto him more tightly.

“You okay?” Arthur asks.

Merlin nods. “Tired.”

“Where do you need to go?” Leon asks.

“The DeBois Repertory,” Arthur replies. He looks at Merlin, who looks more than tired, judging by the unfocused, distant look in his eyes. He shifts his grip on Merlin and holds him more tightly. “We need to regroup and prepare.”

“Do you have a plan?” Leon asks. The other officers watch him, too.

“I do. I’ll explain on the way. Someone get a van.”

“Sire,” one particularly young officer salutes before jogging away and out of sight.

“What should we expect to do?”

“Find as many other officers who’ll join us, but I need all of you to remain in Camelot. Uther… was grievously wounded by magic. I don’t believe he’ll live long without proper treatment,” Arthur says. His voice thickens, but he pushes on. “First we’re going to draw him out and make a scene so that everyone knows how Uther feels about his son choosing to support the sorcerers of Camelot.”

“How on earth do you plan on doing that?” Leon asks. The van pulls up just as Arthur’s phone buzzes in his pocket. One is an official announcement from the Pendragon Household, and the other a reply he’s been waiting for all day. He grins at the screen before pocketing it.

“Looks like _Wicked_ will open tonight after all,” Arthur says. Merlin raises his head and looks at him with a deep frown.

“Why? How?”

“Word’s gone out that the king will be attending the opening performance,” says Arthur. _Just as I hoped._

They pile into the van and cease talking until they’re out of the citadel.

“Arthur….”

“Trust me, Merlin. I know what we’re doing.”

“I trust you,” Merlin says, looking at Arthur softly. Arthur returns his smile.

“You’re both sickening,” Percival announces, making everyone in the van laugh. Merlin leans on Arthur placidly and sighs.

“Are you going to elaborate on this, or…?” Merlin says. They pull off the ring road and into the DeBois quarter.

“I have it worked out, Merlin. Nothing to worry about,” he says lightly.

“We’re missing half the cast, including some of the major roles!”

Arthur laughs. Of course that’s what Merlin’s worrying about now.

“I managed to call in a favor,” says Arthur.

He can’t help but grin as the van pulls up to the Repertory and Merlin’s jaw drops at the sight of Gwaine and Elena sitting on the stoop of Gwen’s building, chatting away happily. The haunted look on Merlin’s face vanishes completely for that moment and Arthur considers it a victory well-won.


	21. For Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [For Good](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CQJaZO2nfGg)

**Merlin**

 

Elena and Gwaine look up at the sight of the DoME van arriving, their expressions changing from happy to alarmed instantaneously.

Arthur opens the door and steps out of the van, Merlin following close behind, his jaw still hanging wide open.

“Fucking hell, Arthur, you nearly killed me twice there,” Gwaine exclaims, hopping off the step. He sees Merlin and beams. “Merlin! Good to see you, mate!”

He walks right up to him and drags Merlin into a bone-crushing hug.

“Good to see you, too,” he manages to say. Merlin sees Arthur laughing silently and sticks his tongue out at him. “Couldn’t’ve told me sooner you were alive?”

“Safety, mate. I’m only here because Arthur’s got that nifty Underground map on his phone,” says Gwaine.

“It turns out it leads right to my estate,” Elena says, stepping forward. “Under the lake, actually.”

“Avalon, right?”

Elena nods. “There’s a whole village down there. It’s ancient, by the looks of it, but it seemed like people were using it up until recently.”

“Probably up until the Purge,” Merlin says.

“Arthur,” Leon says. Merlin turns around. Arthur is already at attention. “We need to know what to do next.”

Merlin looks past Leon and sees the rest of the officers who came with them lingering by the van. They look stiff, bordering on awkward.

“Come inside. I’d rather not be out in the open,” says Arthur, squinting up at the gray sky.

Arthur leads the officers inside and Merlin falls back with Gwaine and Elena.

“What the hell is he planning?”

“Something heroic and self-sacrificing, no doubt,” Merlin says with a derisive sigh. “Let’s go and stop him from doing something stupid.”

Arthur and the others are gathered by the stage standing in a circle, talking too quietly for Merlin to hear as he approaches down the aisle. On the stage, however, the whole set is ready for the performance. Merlin doesn’t have to strain his ears to hear the whispering backstage, though.

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupts, “how the hell is the whole damn cast here?”

“I called ahead while you were studying the maps,” Arthur replies before turning back to the officers. “Find whoever you can to support us, but I want everyone to remain here in Camelot. If there are enough of us in the force, Uther won’t touch us just yet. He’ll need a good story to cover up why half the officers in Camelot have disappeared.”

“What about tonight?” Percival asks. “What do you want us to do?”

“Tonight we put on the opening performance. We’re drawing Uther out, but we can’t let him know that we have a concrete plan. He thinks we’re just buying time or something like that. I want just a few of you to stay close to the theater, but don’t let Uther’s people see you for any reason,” Arthur replies. “He’ll be here, probably in the mezzanine, watching us all, but he will be waiting for the perfect chance to try and arrest Merlin and me. I suspect he’s already put out a call for Merlin’s head.”

Arthur looks at him, almost apologetic, but clearly caught up in explaining his plan to linger too much on Merlin.

“What’s to stop him from arresting you before the show starts, or during the intermission?” Percival asks.

“He wouldn’t,” Arthur shakes his head. “Uther will want to make a spectacle of it, but he’ll want to see what we do, too. He plans ahead. He’ll do it at the end.”

“And… what will you do?”

“We’ll follow the guidance of the play,” Arthur says cryptically. Now he looks at Merlin, and he looks curiously sad. “I think we need to discuss our options, Merlin.”

 _Follow the guidance of the play_ , Merlin muses. His confused smile falls when he starts to see what Arthur means.

“Yes. Definitely,” he says faintly.

\---

They talk for a while backstage away from prying eyes. The officers are getting contact information from all the cast members present, in case anything goes wrong.

“This is stupid,” Merlin says, frustrated, for the fifteenth time. Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t see why I have to go if you’re staying. Why the hell do you need to stay anyway?”

“Because I just made that declaration, and I can’t run away after that,” Arthur says gently. “I need to be here for the people of Camelot.”

“The ones who are left in the city know you’re there for them _because_ of that declaration!” Merlin exclaims.

“It won’t look good if I leave right after that, will it?”

“It’ll look smart, since Uther’s out to arrest you and probably make you disappear,” Merlin says. “I understand you need to make a stand or whatever, but trust me when I say you shouldn’t stay here, at least not right now. Set up your network of supporters. Figure out who you can trust, but _please_ , Arthur, get out now while you can.”

“What good will leaving do, Merlin?” he asks, his tone sharpening.

“It’s not exactly been an easy few days, has it? You were ensorcelled. Someone tried to murder you!”

“And you saved me. You came into your powers. You did more for me than I ever dreamed anyone would,” Arthur says, his voice falling to a soft, reverent whisper on the last words. He takes Merlin’s restless hands in his and squeezes them. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me, Merlin.”

He doesn’t think twice about the words that come out of his mouth next.

“I love you,” he says simply, quietly. Arthur grins and ducks his head. “Prat,” he adds for good measure. Arthur barks a happy laugh.

“I love you, too,” he says as he looks up at Merlin again, smiling so warmly Merlin thinks he might just melt away. “Merlin… after all you’ve done it’d be for nothing if I didn’t stay to follow through. I’m not running away anymore. I’m not going to let Uther continue like this, and I can hardly stop him from afar.”

“Don’t you see? Most sorcerers have already left Camelot City and have taken to the countryside. I saw that for myself when I was coming back to Camelot from the border. The true druids have been sheltering at least some of them! If you join them and show them personally your intentions, they’ll believe you. If you stay here, they might think it a farce or you’re using them as a political stunt.”

“Merlin—”

“They’ve no reason to believe a word a Pendragon says,” he says, tempering his voice to keep from sounding too harsh. “You have the chance to change that.”

“I need to make my father see I won’t budge on the matter,” Arthur says, shaking his head again. “It’s not so simple as making peace with them.”

“The people are the ones you need to convince. Words alone won’t be enough for them.”

Arthur sighs and lets his head drop, looking down at the floor between his knees. His hands go lax and Merlin holds on more tightly.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I know you’re right, but – my father is dying, Merlin. The blow Nimueh dealt will not heal. When he passes, I need to be ready to take the throne before one of his supporters tries to usurp it.”

Merlin wants to tell him to go to the druids for help and support, to show them exactly how much he wants to change Camelot. They’ll love him as much as Merlin loves him. Arthur won’t have a hard time claiming the throne with people like Merlin, Iseldir, and the entire magical population of the city as well as Leon and the other officials at his side. Merlin wants to tell him that the people of Camelot still in the city surely love him already – he’s been on the ground and out of the palace for many years, always trying to integrate into regular society. They already know him. It’s time for the sorcerers of Camelot to know Arthur and see real hope in a Pendragon.

Merlin just wants to _shake him hard_ when he sees uncertainty and fear threaten to overtake on Arthur’s face.

He reaches forward and tips Arthur’s face upward.

“Think about it. I know whatever you choose, you’ll make the right decision. But whatever you do, Arthur, know you don’t have to do it alone,” he adds, unable to stop the sadness creeping into his voice.

He strokes the back of Arthur’s hand with his thumb until Arthur crosses and sits next to Merlin, winding an arm around him and leaning against Merlin’s shoulder. The curtain beside them flits as someone crosses the stage rapidly on the other side. Merlin lets his magic hold the curtains firmly shut and he curls protectively around Arthur. Merlin presses a kiss on the crown of Arthur’s head.

“It’s okay to be sad about your father,” he says gently.

“He’s not dead yet,” Arthur says.

“It’s still okay.”

“He’s done horrid things, Merlin,” he says, heaving himself upright. “I hate him for what he’s done.”

“But you still love him. He’s your father, Arthur. It’s alright.”

“It’s not. There’s no rule that says I have to be the perfect son, or I have to love him.”

“Love’s a choice,” Merlin says, looking at Arthur curiously, “but you can’t choose your parents.”

“I know.” Arthur rubs his eyes wearily. “So. Are we going to talk about what happened back there with Nimueh?”

“Not yet,” Merlin says quickly. The image of Morgause’s limp body and the memory of her weight in his arms flash through him quick and cutting as lightning. He struggles to keep his voice steady. “I hope I never have to hurt anyone again.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Arthur says. Merlin tries for a weak smile, but even that’s too much effort all of a sudden. Arthur curls his arm more securely around him. “I promise, I will. Things are going to change in Camelot.”

“I know it will,” replies Merlin, looking up at Arthur, “but it’s going to be a long time before things are okay around here.”

“We’ll work hard at it.”

“You’re going to be a wonderful king, Arthur,” Merlin says softly. Arthur looks at him. “I don’t know if I’ve ever actually told you that, but it’s true. I know you’re going to be the greatest king Camelot’s ever had.”

“Do you really think that?”

“Absolutely. Definitely not when we first met, but now… I know you better,” Merlin replies. He laces his fingers through Arthur’s and places their hands on his knee.

“How can you be so sure?” Arthur asks. Merlin finds his wide-eyed, marginally confused stare locked on him.

“I just do, Arthur. Trust me on this. You’re going to make this kingdom brilliant,” Merlin says, starting to truly smile at him, knowing he looks a little mad, if Arthur’s half-grimace is anything to go by.

“We’re going to be brilliant, you mean,” Arthur says, bumping Merlin with his shoulder. Arthur is grinning as widely as Merlin now, his cheeks pink with pleasure.

“Hey, I’ve barely got working magic now!”

“Definitely more than barely,” Arthur chuckles. He gazes at Merlin, his eyes flitting lower. “I’m sure we’ll find some work for you to do.”

“Oh?” Merlin asks.

“Perhaps… warming the royal bed?” Arthur suggests. Merlin digs a finger into Arthur’s side in retaliation. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Why can you be warming _my_ bed?”

“Because I’m the prince, Merlin,” he says haughtily.

“What about all that talk of being here for the people. _I’m_ the people, Arthur – oh, _ow!_ Don’t pinch me there!”

He kisses the shell of Merlin’s ear, working slowly down his face along his cheekbone, only to hover just above his lips. Merlin huffs, and he feels Arthur’s wicked smile in response. His hand is warm on his side, covering the spot where he pinched him, but Merlin still shivers when Arthur finally does kiss him. He sighs into it, relaxing, the tension of their kiss in the woods all gone now, replaced by something calmer and sweeter. It’s just as much of a thrill as backing Arthur up against a tree and snogging the daylights out of him, leaving Merlin just as wound up and breathless.

“Hold that thought, lads,” Gwaine says as he gets down on all fours and starts swiping his hands over the floorboards.

“Gwaine!” Arthur exclaims. Gwaine ignores him completely and gets down on all fours.

“Where’s that bleeding trapdoor?” Gwaine says loudly, his mouth muffled by probably being pressed up against the floor.

Arthur sags against Merlin, tracing a cool finger along the patch of skin exposed where his shirt rode up.

“Later,” Merlin says.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Arthur says, smiling at him.

“Good,” Merlin smiles back. Arthur kisses him chastely on the cheek, withdraws, and takes off after Gwaine, leaving Merlin to heave himself off the boxes and down the trapdoor on his own.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

She almost twists her ankle for the fourth time on the stone floor of the cavernous tunnels in the Underground. Lance and Gwen are at the front, followed by Gaius and Mordred, who are deep in conversation about some rare herbs whose effects are apparently quite exquisite on the relaxed mind.

She passes the opening to a different tunnel. It’s not the first time – she’s seen several, and each time she’s realized she’s far enough behind that they’d never notice her leave. It’d be all too easy to escape.

But Morgana walks on, silently trudging through the dirty tunnels after the others.

A blue glow overtakes the tunnel as they come around a bend. Morgana pauses at the corner at the sound of three unmistakable voices – Gwaine, Arthur, and Merlin. Morgana leans against the wall and listens to their happy greetings.

“Where’s Morgana?” Merlin asks. The hall goes quiet.

“Not in a rush,” she says before she can think of doing otherwise.

When she arrives where they’re waiting silently for her, Merlin takes a good look at Morgana. She knows she looks worse for wear, her clothes dirty and her shoes falling apart. Her face is gaunt and her eyes are ringed black with exhaustion. She steadies herself with a hand on the wall. Mordred shuffles nervously next to Merlin, watching Morgana like he doesn’t know if he should jump between them or not.

Morgana looks up and straight at Arthur, then at Merlin. Her eyes narrow.

“What do you want from me?” she asks with steady clarity.

“I don’t want to see you hurt,” Arthur says instantly. “We all want the same thing here.”

Her heart clenches in her chest.

“That’s not really true. I won’t accept you on the throne, Arthur.”

“Why?”

Morgana blinks at him.

“You can’t give sorcerers what they need. Only a sorcerer can do that – only someone who understands. You’ll never really understand.”

“Merlin does, though, and I don’t plan on ignoring his advice or losing his friendship any time soon,” Arthur says. Her gaze flits to Merlin before settling again on Arthur. “I want you at my side, too, Morgana. I want you on my council. I want you to teach me what you’ve been through and the things you want to see Camelot do for your people. That’s always what I’ve wanted.”

Morgana glances away. It’s not the first time she’s heard Arthur say these things, but it’s the only time she’s had to really try not to believe him.

“I was always going to succeed Uther, no matter your claim,” he adds. She looks at him suddenly, nostrils flaring. “You know that.”

“I deserve the throne, Arthur. Camelot deserves someone like me at the helm.”

“Camelot deserves someone who won’t let innocents die,” Gwaine cuts in. “You don’t make the cut, Morgana.”

“Then neither does Arthur,” she snarls.

“You sent those people to their deaths!” Gwaine says.

“It wasn’t my damn _fault!_ ” she shouts. Her voice is tremulous and rife with emotion, spilling out of her shaking body uncontrollably. Gwen reaches for her, only to settle back at Lance’s side with a second thought. She takes a shaky breath. “I didn’t know what Uther planned to do. I didn’t know he was _waiting_ for us to do this! I did what was right… and it all went to hell!”

“Morgana,” Arthur says gently. “I never wanted those people to die the night of the raid. Uther gave those orders to let people be hurt. I did everything in my power, but I didn’t know he was ready for me. That’s the only reason it happened that way.”

“It seems he played us both,” she finally murmurs. Arthur seems to relax a fraction, leaning slightly on Merlin now.

Something clicks in her mind. It’d be so easy to let Arthur trust her again and earn his favor. Arthur is too trusting for his own good sometimes, which is an unfortunate trait for a man with a law degree who works in Magical Enforcement. The simplicity of letting it happen and then taking the throne from him at precisely the right moment is tantalizing.

Perhaps it’d be too easy, bordering on unfair. A challenge instead would lie in Morgana trying to learn to trust Arthur again, even if only for a little while. She wonders briefly when she stopped trusting him. Was it when she considered him aligned with Uther? Was it all those years ago when Morgause taught her just how unbalanced and horrific Uther’s reign was, and that Arthur was a child of the Purge?

But what does that make her, and what would it make her if she went on acting on beliefs she didn’t construct for herself? She shuts her eyes, trying to clear her head, but it’s to no avail at all.

“The prophecies say we aren’t to be friends, you know,” she says after a long pause.

“Oh, damn the prophecies, Morgana,” Merlin suddenly says. Morgana’s eyes open instantly; the way Merlin’s voice reverberates in the cavern strikes her at her core – right where her magic rests. “I am Emrys, and Arthur is the Once and Future King. _So what?_ ”

Morgana thinks she must have heard wrong, but there’s something different enough about Merlin she finds she can’t refute his claim to be Emrys. The whole cavern seems to waver under the attention of his power, the area so bright with his little blue lights.

Merlin continues, seemingly holding back a tired sigh,

“Morgana, you can be part of the Camelot we’re all trying to build here. Nothing out there, no prophecy or foreseen destiny, says you can’t take a different path from the one you were on. What you did sparked all of us working to turn Camelot into a better kingdom. You could be part of that. We all want the same thing here, and maybe the way you went about things before was the only way you thought would work, but there are options now. You might want to change the world, but you absolutely have a choice as to how you do it.”

Her mouth quivers and she looks away from Merlin, who looks at Arthur. Arthur, on the other hand, looks at Merlin like he’s just hung a second moon just for him. The affection in his face is something Morgana’s never seen so baldly exposed. Merlin elbows Arthur. He coughs lamely and draws himself up again.

“Until you decide, I have one more offer for you – for you all,” Arthur says. Morgana looks at him again. Curiosity is winning out at a startlingly fast rate. “Morgana, we need you to run the show tonight – just for tonight.”

“The show? Why the hell are we doing this now?” she bursts.

“We’re sending a message.”

“Uther will be watching,” Merlin adds. Morgana’s lips curl involuntarily.

 _He keeps his promises_ , she thinks bitterly, recalling his vow to be there on opening night all those weeks ago.

“I heard what you said earlier on the transmission,” she says. Arthur’s lips freeze mid-word. “I… I hope you will keep your promises, Arthur.”

“I try to be a man of honor,” he replies, a smile dawning on his face. Morgana tries not to scoff.

“What’s the message, then? Wasn’t the broadcast enough?” Gwen asks, startling Morgana with the closeness of her voice. She searches for the warmth of her presence, but Gwen is just too far away still. It makes Morgana want to clutch at her chest in desperation.

“The broadcast was a start. I hate to fuel divisions in my family, but we must set ourselves apart from Uther, and when he acts, we are going to be ready with a response to his actions,” Arthur replies.

“You’ve got all this worked out?” Gwen asks. Arthur nods. “And you’re certain it’ll work?”

“Unless the building collapses – yes, I am. It’s a simple plan, Gwen.”

“What about the cast?”

“Everyone will take the Underground out of the city. Now that we know how to get to Avalon, we have a safe haven where we can retreat once tonight is over,” Arthur replies. Morgana notices Merlin tense up beside Arthur and put a few more inches between them. Arthur’s smile grows tighter.

“We’ll follow your lead, Arthur,” Lance says. “We all trust you here.”

Morgana doesn’t find the murmurs of assent as rankling as she thought she would. Merlin looks at her again.

“Morgana?” he asks. “Arthur’s leadership skills aside, we can’t actually do this without your help. The show’s yours, really.”

All eyes fixate on her. She does her best to stand up at full height.

“And it’ll be a big _fuck you_ to Uther?” she asks. The corners of Morgana’s lips start to rise. Merlin starts to grin, but there’s a hollow quality to his smile nonetheless.

“If all goes well.”

“Once more, for old times’ sake?” Arthur asks, holding a hand out to Morgana.

After an excruciatingly long moment in which the icy cold of the tunnel seemed to bloom into a far more comfortable temperature, she decides it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. Morgana grins at Arthur and drops her hand into his open palm.

“We can’t let Uther ruin this for us, too, can we?”

She catches Gwen beaming at her out of the corner of her eye, with a calm and proud Lance at her side. Mordred relaxes next to Merlin, and Gwaine uncurls his fists. She smiles a little more widely at how pleasant it makes her feel. She glances at her watch and curses loudly.

“What the hell are we waiting for, then? The show starts in four hours. Let’s _move!_ ”

 

* * *

 

**Gwen**

 

Gwen finds Morgana sitting in one of the dressing rooms looking paler than the walls. She goes to the fountain in the hall and returns with a cup of water.

“Here,” she says. Morgana looks up. Her eyes are sunken and ringed with purple. Her hair is a mess and she looks thinner than she did a few days ago. In short, she looks terrible.

Morgana accepts the water and drinks slowly.

“Thank you,” she says.

“What happened?” Gwen asks.

“I got arrested. Uther knew all along what I was doing,” she says without looking at her. “I never fooled him once.”

“It sounds like he never lost control,” says Gwen. “That’s not your fault.”

“And Merlin… he’s Emrys,” she goes on. It’s almost like she didn’t hear Gwen speak. “I didn’t think it possible.”

Alarm rushes through Gwen.

“Are you going to try and kill him?”

Morgana looks at her.

“I don’t know. Not now. No. I won’t.”

“Morgana… what are you so afraid of?” she asks, kneeling beside her.

“I want to be happy and accepted, but I don’t think I can be,” Morgana says quietly. “I don’t even know who I want to accept me.”

“That’s nothing unusual. That’s human.”

“You’re too good to me, Gwen.”

“I can be your friend, Morgana, but you have to swear you won’t try and kill Merlin or Arthur ever again,” she says in a low voice. “You’ll lose me forever. You’ll lose a lot more than me.”

Morgana’s eyes, pale green, seem to pale even further.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you, Gwen. I never meant for the Blood Guard to come after you. I didn’t know they were doing things like that.”

“It might’ve been the King’s Men. I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter now. I should’ve protected you like I said I would.”

“Morgana… thank you. But I don’t need protection. Maybe you didn’t see, but I’ve done all right,” she says. “Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

“Gwen….”

She leans closer to Gwen—when did they settle so close, their faces inches apart—and her eyes flutter shut, her lashes brushing Gwen’s cheek. Gwen stands abruptly and backs away a few steps.

“I’m still engaged to Lance. I love him.”

“I know you do,” Morgana says. She doesn’t meet Gwen’s eye.

“I need to know you’ll be okay.”

“I will. Can you let me get ready now?”

Gwen nods and lets herself out of the dressing room. The hall is cold and quiet compared to Morgana’s presence, which feels like hot white noise to Gwen. She returns to the space backstage where she knows Lance will be.

“How did things go?” she murmured.

“Perfectly,” Lance replies. “They didn’t ask about Morgana, but I didn’t tell Morgause and Nimueh she was there. I didn’t have to do anything.”

“Okay,” she nods. “Good.”

“How’s she seem?”

“Confused, I think. She still hates Emrys, but I think the fact that it’s Merlin is throwing her off,” says Gwen.

“We’ll be careful when we all leave.”

“Do you really think this’ll work?”

“I think she’s afraid of being alone in the world. I think she wants to be right and to have people think she’s right. She wants to know people support her, the real her,” Lance says. “That’s what I saw when she was at her worst in the cells.”

“Then there’s hope. We can keep working on her.”

“So long as she thinks you’ll care for her….”

“I do, Lance,” she says. “I hate to say it, but I do.”

“Oh,” he says, blinking at her owlishly. “Oh.”

“Lance.”

“It’s all right. I just… I need a minute. But we can make this work.”

“Why do you want to help her so much all of a sudden?”

“Because it’ll make you happy,” Lance says, taking her hand, “and if we help her, she might not kill Merlin and Arthur and everyone else we love.”

“That’s… valid,” she says with a faint laugh. Lance kisses her cheek and walks away. Gwen watches him go, wondering how long they can keep this up before it starts to hurt them.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

He’s explained the plan to the cast and their small crew. They’re jittery, their smiles a little tenser than can be attributed to pre-show nerves, but no one has run out screaming for Special Forces. Everyone is bouncing on their feet as they wait in position for the opening scene. Gwen hooks Arthur up to the mechanical bubble in which Arthur will float on stage and smoothens the last of the wrinkles on his jacket.

“Don’t be nervous,” she says softly. “Everything will be fine.”

“He’s out there,” Arthur says, gazing at the ruffling curtain. “He’s in the mezzanine surrounded by his guards.”

“It’s a full house.”

“No one with tickets dared skip the show now that the King is here.”

“Perhaps not,” says Gwen, “but maybe they’re here to see you instead.”

“They’ve been taught to function on fear, Gwen,” he says, shaking his head.

“I don’t think you’re giving them enough credit. They already love you, Arthur. I think – well, I _know_ – you can get them to love you more than they fear him. That’s how you’ll win Camelot over.”

“Uther needs to take me seriously.”

“He will,” she says, “when he sees his employees, his military, and his citizens leave his side because of how you called him out on what he’s done to the kingdom. You pointed out a disease, and now that they’ve seen it, it can’t be unseen.”

“I hope you’re right, Guinevere,” Arthur says as the pit orchestra finally quiets from its warm-ups, “for all of our sakes’.”

She kisses his cheek before running off to the operating station. On the other side of the stage Arthur sees Merlin bouncing in the farthest corner, looking very green – hopefully more due to make-up than nervous nausea. He catches Merlin’s eye as the curtain goes up and gives him a tiny nod. Merlin smiles in return, his motions stilling just for that short moment. It gives Arthur just enough of a jolt of strength to face the cacophonic opening notes of _No One Mourns the Wicked_.

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

She lingers in the wings as the first scenes progress smoothly, whispering orders to Gwen and Lance. The sets and costumes are perfect. The choreography could have used some more work, but it was more than passable, given the circumstances. Everyone in the cast sounds beautiful. Morgana, however, doesn’t watch them – she watches the crowd instead.

Uther sits front and center in the mezzanine in a sea of dark uniforms, watching with an impassive expression. He occasionally wipes his brow with a stained handkerchief. Morgana loses track of him as Merlin finishes off _The Wizard and I_ and receives a deafening ovation.

“Nimueh landed a blow on him,” Merlin says, materializing beside her. She hands him a bottle of water. “Your plan wasn’t a total failure.”

“What happened to her? I doubt Uther locked her up.”

“No. She’s dead,” Merlin replies. He almost drops his water bottle, halting it between his loose fingers with his magic just in time.

“It was you, then,” Morgana says. “I felt something. I felt it twice, and Morgause is nowhere to be seen.”

“She left you to rot. She admitted to using you,” Merlin murmurs. “I didn’t want to do it, though. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Morgana presses her lips together.

“I’m sorry I had to do it, but I don’t regret it,” Merlin says before placing the bottle on a box and dashing back on stage.

He walks right up to Arthur, who’s currently preening and settling into their new apartment at Shiz. They take their places for _What is This Feeling?_ and begin to sing. They’re very convincing, and though Morgana witnessed the animosity between Merlin and Arthur at the start of rehearsals, their opinions of each other have changed so much, it’s a testament to their acting skills now.

Morgana looks away and searches instead for Gwen, who is puttering about in the back corner with some of the chorus members, pinning on a few details before they’re due to join the song. She waits until Gwen sends them off before approaching her.

“What will you do when you leave?” she asks. Gwen fusses with scraps of ribbons in her hands.

 

_“She’s a terror, she’s a tartar._

_We don’t mean to show a bias_

_But Galinda you’re a martyr!”_

 

“We’re planning to stay with Merlin and the druids until we know what the solid plan is for the near future, at least. We… we were thinking of marrying with a traditional ceremony, actually,” Gwen adds. She glances at Morgana as though she’s afraid of what she’ll say or do as she twists the glittering ring on her finger nervously.

“A hand-fasting ceremony?” she asks. Gwen nods. “That’s quite…,” she pauses. “I’ve heard it’s a beautiful event to witness. I’m happy for you both.”

The words don’t taste right. Gwen notices, as by her special gift of reading Morgana like an open book.

“Things have gone rather pear-shaped, haven’t they?” she asks.

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Morgana acquiesces.

“What will _you_ do?”

 

_“Loathing! There’s a strange exhilaration_

_In such total detestation!_

_It’s so pure, so strong!”_

 

“I… I haven’t decided,” she admits. “My allies are dead or locked away. The true druids were never fond of me. I can’t imagine you or anyone else here would want me to stay.”

“We do,” she frowns. “Morgana, we absolutely do, if that’s what you want. And of course if you don’t try to hurt us all again.”

“How could you let me stay when you know what I’ve done? What I tried to do to Arthur?”

“I know some part of you still wants him dead. You were always a little jealous of his right to the throne,” Gwen says, her voice cool and smooth. “But the whole damn point is that you have a choice! And we want you to make the right one. Can’t you see that?”

“Gwen—,” Morgana starts.

“No. I won’t do this now, but I want to talk properly about this another time.”

“I’ve been quite lost without you,” Morgana says, taking a daring step toward her. Gwen doesn’t move and lets Morgana close in on her. “I’m sorry for the way we fell apart back in uni.”

Arthur screams on stage as Merlin scares him and cackles gleefully. The crowd again looses deafening applause as the scene fades to black. Stage hands bustle past them setting up for the next scene in Dillamond’s classroom. When the lights illuminate the stage again, Gwen speaks again.

“We were young. You were scared. I understand.”

“Leaving you the way I did was the first of many bad choices,” Morgana says boldly. Gwen looks up at her sharply. “I still care for you, Gwen. I don’t think I ever stopped. I wouldn’t dare come between you and Lance – he’s perfect for you. I can’t compete with that, and I know you’re happy, but I… I had to say something, now that I could.”

“Now that Morgause is gone?”

Her gut twists unexpectedly, uncomfortably; Morgana looks away. She steps back and tries to make her escape, but Gwen catches her wrist with a light touch that ties Morgana down more tightly than any rope or knot ever could. Her heart stammers in her chest with hope she knows shouldn’t feel, not after losing Morgause and her war all in one night.

“Come with us. Stay for the wedding,” Gwen says. “Stay for the ceremony before, and the one that follows. I think… we’d both like you there. Then you can choose to stay or go.”

Morgana’s eyes widen.

“You want to do the whole ceremony? Not just the hand fasting?”

Gwen nods.

“We figured it’d be a good chance to get to know their customs, since we’ll be around them for a while now,” Gwen says with a half-shrug.

“You realize what it is, don’t you?” Morgana presses. Gwen gives her an innocent look, but the twist to her smile belies her knowledge. “You do.”

“We wouldn’t half-ass something this special, Morgana,” she says.

Public sex isn’t uncommon among the druids’ traditions, nor is lying in the wilderness, perhaps with more than one person at once. It’s all about establishing a connection – and in the case of a wedding, the connection can be blessed by the earth with such acts.

Morgana can’t pretend not to be surprised.

“Consider it. It won’t be for a little while anyway,” says Gwen, startling Morgana out of her thoughts.

“Do you need help with anything?”

She shakes her head.

“You ought to keep an eye on things out there,” she says, nodding at the stage. Morgana turns around in time to see Merlin finish _Something Bad_ with Dillamond. A big scene change is moments away. When Morgana turns back around, Gwen is already gone.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

Gwaine is absolutely _fantastic_ as Fiyero, as always, and Arthur is more than convincing as a love-struck Galinda. While waiting his turn Merlin glances at Uther, who looks like he’s swallowed a naked grapefruit whole. He certainly recognizes Gwaine, then.

Gwen taps his shoulder and he hurries out to meet Elena/Nessa halfway while Arthur/Galinda and her friends chat away about the atrocious black hat. During the scene at the Oz Dust Ballroom – which looks stunning; he doesn’t know how Gwen and Lance made it look so good without the help of magic – Merlin glimpses Uther rising from his seat. He stumbles, but he’s lucky he’s supposed to be dancing woodenly and terribly.

 _“Mind if I cut in?”_ Arthur/Galinda asks.

They begin their very odd dance and the others slowly join in. The music swells until the whole hall is full of their voices. The audience is already clapping before they reach the final notes of _Dancing Through Life_.

When Merlin looks back up at the mezzanine, Uther has returned, leaning heavily on one of his guards. It unsettles him.

Luckily, Arthur as Galinda singing _Popular_ completely distracts him. It takes all his energy to keep a straight face through the scene. Merlin can see a few people in the front rows with tears of laughter streaming down their faces. When he’s twirling and bounding across the stage, Arthur manages to catch Merlin’s eye while he’s facing away from the audience and _wink_ , his smile utterly alive with laughter for the first time in ages. He runs his hands through Merlin’s hair, sending a jolt straight down south, and fiddles with Merlin’s glasses. It’s _too_ fun to last. Merlin runs offstage and watches Arthur perch on the bed and ogle himself in the mirror. He lets out a little magic to complete recording their performance of the song – it’s something Merlin knows he’ll want to go back to on bad days to come.

Arthur bounds offstage when the lights dim and barrels right into Merlin, sweeping him up into a full-bodied kiss. Merlin’s glasses fly right off his face at the impact. He kisses Arthur back as they right themselves, Arthur’s arms firmly wrapped around Merlin’s torso. They part, but not very far, resting on each other, sweaty foreheads touching and all.

“What was that for?” Merlin asks.

“Just because I could,” Arthur breathes. He kisses the end of Merlin’s nose before backing away and running down to his next cue.

\---

 _Defying Gravity_ is different this time. Merlin’s magic is alive and flowing like blood by the time they reach the scene. He knows the whole theater is charged with his magic singing along with him. It resonates with his voice, rising like a battle cry from the center of his chest. It’s unlike anything he’d ever felt. One glance at Arthur tells Merlin that he very much feels it, too.

He doesn’t dare look at Uther until the very end of the song when Merlin emerges from the shadows and rises up above the stage – only, not by the mechanism they’d set up, but by his magic alone. Everyone’s – including Uther’s – eyes are on Merlin, breath held tight in their throats as the first act comes to a head.

 

_“So if you care to find me,_

_Look to the western sky!_

_As someone told me lately_

_Everyone deserves a chance to fly!_

_And if I’m flying solo,_

_At least I’m flying free!_

_To those who ground me_

_Take a message back for me!_

_Tell them how I am defying gravity._

_I’m flying high, defying gravity._

_And soon I’ll match them in reknown._ ”

 

Merlin takes a breath, finds Uther clinging to his every word, and edges just over the edge of the crowd to sing,

 

_“And nobody, in all of Oz,_

_No wizard that there is or was,_

_Is every going to bring me down!”_

 

When the music finally dies down and Merlin returns to the stage, he finds it in utter chaos. The entire cast swarms him, some of them spewing their utter awe while a few are in too much shock to articulate anything. He finds Morgana watching from the fringe. She inclines her head toward him. He nods back.

“Give him some space,” Gwaine shouts, yanking a couple of the chorus members out of the way. He throws an arm around Merlin and leads him toward Morgana. “Both of you need to stay out of sight now, you hear? Uther’s coming.”

Gwaine pulls back a curtain along the back and pushes both Morgana and Merlin behind it. He disappears as the darkness settles on them. Merlin shuts his eyes and listens for Uther’s unsteady footsteps as he climbs the stage and parts the heavy red curtains.

“Arthur,” he says. There’s an unhealthy rasp in his voice.

“Uther,” Arthur replies. Merlin hears him cross an empty space on the stage. “You aren’t allowed back here, sire.”

“Enough of this, Arthur. You and the sorcerer have made your declaration. Let us end this peacefully.”

“I don’t think we can do that,” he says smoothly. “I know very well what happens when you make promises of peace to people who threaten you.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Balinor the dragonlord, and the Great Dragon himself.”

“They were beyond threatening! They meant ill upon all of Camelot.”

“Father,” Arthur says softly, “you know that’s not true. You realize very well what you’ve done and how wrong it was.”

“I have done _nothing_ —,” he snarls.

“Don’t.”

“Magic _murdered_ your mother.”

“Magic gave me life! And the only reason my mother died was because _you_ refused to think you could be subject to the laws of magic like every other person in Camelot!” Arthur shouts. “Camelot may have thrived under your rule, but it won’t last, not when sorcerers are killed for something they cannot help – and especially not under a king who has long gone mad with grief and revenge.”

“You will be arrested for treason, Arthur. Emrys will be arrested for murder, and the rest of your cast will never see the outside of Meleagant after tonight,” Uther says, his voice low and strained by a slight tremor.

“You’re ill, Uther,” Arthur says. “You won’t survive long either.”

“Hold your tongue, boy!”

Morgana grasps Merlin’s wrist to keep him from running out from behind the curtain.

“I’ve given you a chance,” Uther spits. “You’ve squandered it. You’ve chosen a vile sorcerer over your own flesh and blood.”

“I love him, and I’ve not abandoned by family. I won’t abandon Morgana again, not like you,” Arthur says with such conviction Morgana’s hand goes lax around Merlin’s wrist. “Turning your back on her, using me to harm citizens of Camelot – you’re the one who’s betrayed us. It’s all _very_ clear to me now.”

“Then there’s nothing else I can say,” Uther says. He raises his voice, addressing the cast gathered around them.

“Allow the audience to leave. Promise me they won’t be caught in the crossfire.”

“I would never endanger true citizens of Camelot, Arthur,” Uther says. The curtain flaps heavily. The cast bursts into worried chatter. Morgana’s hand tightens on Merlin and she drags him out into the open.

Everyone stops talking the moment they see them. Arthur turns around.

“Arthur,” Morgana starts.

He shakes his head. Morgana exhales and nods, her expression grateful. Arthur approaches them. He seems tentative to ask, but Morgana saves him the trouble and pulls him into a fierce hug. Merlin looks away, but he catches murmurs of apologies, tremulous voices vowing to do better, to work harder at fixing their _everything_. Merlin bites back a persistent smile.

Morgana pulls away first. She surreptitiously wipes at her face and turns to the cast.

“We’ve got five minutes until curtain, people! Get going!” she shouts. Everyone springs into action. “We have an escape to set up!”

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

Once Nessa dies, Arthur’s plan is set in motion. Elena will go down and start ushering people into the Underground once they reach the final scenes. When _For Good_ begins, the cast will already be on their way out of Camelot City. Arthur, Merlin, Morgana, and Gwaine will remain. In the last scene, Morgana will go first, followed by Merlin and Gwaine, leaving Arthur to face Uther.

He stands by his decision, but his resolve weakens with every moment. Uther clearly believes him, and Arthur realizes that by staying and knowing where everyone has gone he’ll be endangering their safety, especially if he’s taken to Meleagant to be handled by Aredian. Arthur shudders at the thought.

The second act passes in a rush of adrenaline. It’s flawless, but Arthur barely realizes it’s even happening. He’s riding the high of performing, channeling all his energy into Glinda – and ignoring the knot the size of a boulder lodged in his gut. The closer they get to _For Good_ , the more terrified he is of what comes afterwards.

“Hey,” Merlin murmurs, touching his elbow lightly, startling Arthur out of his skin. “You all right?”

“Fine,” he says quickly.

“Nervous?”

“I don’t get nervous, Merlin. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Funny,” he says dryly. “Arthur… I don’t know yet what you’ve decided to do, but I’m guessing you’re staying.”

Arthur doesn’t correct him. He doesn’t damn know yet.

“Right. I don’t want us to say goodbye,” Merlin says, moving to stand between Arthur and the stage, “and the last thing I want is to not see you for a very long time, but I just… I need you to know that I’m proud of you. What you’ve done. What you’re doing and what you’re going to do. And I love you. I mean, not just for this, wonderful as it is. I just love _you_ , all right? I wanted to make sure you knew,” he finishes, trailing off with a rather lame wave of his hand.

“Idiot,” Arthur mutters. He pulls Merlin into his arms and relaxes into the warmth of his body.

“I’m scared,” Merlin murmurs.

“I am too. Probably more than you, even,” Arthur adds. He pauses, then says, “I don’t want to stay, Merlin. I just don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll know,” Merlin says. “I know you will in the end. I’ll wait for you in the tunnel for ten minutes. I’ll go after that.”

“Okay,” Arthur nods. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“Anything else?” he asks with a cheeky smile.

“I think you’re decent, but – oh, stop pouting! I love you, you utter clotpole,” he laughs. “And… I can’t really imagine doing any of this without you.”

“ _This_ this? Or—?”  

“All of this,” Arthur says, waving vaguely at the air around them. _Life_ , he wants to say, but it’d only make parting feel ten thousand times worse. Merlin’s gaze softens; he seems to understand him anyway. Only Merlin sees Arthur so plainly.

“Me too. We’ll have time for… all this, too.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Morgana hisses, yanking Merlin away form Arthur. “It’s time for the scene! We’re already on the way out.”

The music is, apparently, stalling while the lights stay dimmed.

“Go!” she says, shoving Merlin forward.

Arthur refuses to admit he whimpers as Merlin finally breaks away from him and stumbles onto the stage.

“We can do this,” he murmurs, “right?”

Morgana takes his hand and gently squeezes it.

“See you on the other side,” she whispers.

“Morgana, I’m not—”

“Sure, you’re not,” she says with a teasing laugh as she walks away, her costume billowing as she takes her position for her final scenes after _For Good_.

Merlin looks at him. It’s his turn to join him on stage. Their hurried, desperate exchange is a blur to Arthur, a haze of emotions, just as it ought to be for Glinda and Elphaba. He doesn’t understand why it’s so intense all of a sudden, why he’s hyperaware of every minute action they make, any more than Glinda understand why Elphaba makes her promise not to clear her name after she surrenders.

 

 _“I’m limited_ ,” Merlin sings sadly.

_“Just look at me, I’m limited!_

_And just look at you, you can do all I couldn’t do, Glinda.”_

Merlin/Elphaba hands Arthur/Galinda the Grimmerie. He protests, claiming he can’t read it, but Merlin/Elphaba is insistent.

_“So now it’s up to you, for both of us._

_Now it’s up to you.”_

“You’re the only friend I’ve ever had,” Merlin/Elphaba admits.

“And I’ve had so many friends,” Arthur/Glinda professes, pausing while the audience laughs, “but only one that mattered.”

 

Arthur angles himself toward the audience as the lighting dims and becomes gentle around them.

 

_“I’ve heard it said_

_That people come into our lives_

_For a reason,_

_Bringing something we must learn,_

_And we are led to those_

_Who help us most to grow_

_If we let them, and we help them in return._

_Well I don’t know if I believe that’s true,_

_But I know I’m who I am today because I knew you.”_

 

Arthur looks at Merlin, who looks like he just might burst, not a trace of Elphaba to be seen on his face. Luckily it’s close to what she ought to be feeling, too, but there’s too much longing, too much _love_ there for it to be mistaken for something grateful and platonic. He can hear hearts breaking for them in the audience, and Arthur wonders just how many of them realize what’s really going on.

 

_“Like comet pulled from orbit_

_As it passes a sun –_

_Like a stream that meets a boulder_

_Halfway through the wood –_

_Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?_

_But, because I knew you,_

_I have been changed… for good.”_

 

Merlin steps forward directly next to Arthur, and sings, his voice warbling and tight with emotion, but free and clear as any song they’ve sung tonight.

 

_“It well may be_

_That we will never meet again_

_In this lifetime,_

_So let me say before we part –_

_So much of me_

_Is made of what I learn from you._

_You’ll be with me_

_Like a handprint on my heart._

_And now whatever way our stories end_

_I know you have rewritten mine_

_By being my friend!_

_Like ship blown from its mooring_

_By a wind off the sea –_

_Like a seed dropped by a sky bird_

_In a distant wood –_

_Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?_

_But, because I knew you—”_

Arthur cuts in, _“Because I knew you.”_

 

Their voices blend and complement each other, coming together like two halves of a whole, composing a perfect sound and melody.

 

_“I have been changed for good.”_

 

They sing their apologies, the pace of the song picking up as they circle closer to each other. When they alternate lines, the audience members teeter on the edges of their seats as their sing more loudly and confidently than ever. Arthur can feel Merlin’s magic seep into him and settle deep in his bones as they sing in unison the end of the song.

 _“Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better?”_ they ask each other.

_“I do believe I have been changed for the better.”_

_“And because I knew you,”_ Arthur sings.

 _“Because I knew you,”_ Merlin sings, his voice rising high and tender. Arthur joins him for their last lines together.

_“Because I knew you, I have been changed… for good.”_

They throw themselves into each other’s arms as the audience explodes into applause and whistles.

“You ready?” Merlin asks softly.

“No,” he admits.

“I believe in you, Arthur. I always have.”

He kisses Arthur’s cheek, right there for everyone watching the production to see, before he pulls away and slips back into character. He bustles about with his bucket, pulling up the tarp that covers half the stage. Arthur takes his place in front of it while Merlin’s magic washes over them, letting the sounds of the missing cast singing _March of the Witch Hunters_ free. Shadows dance across the tarp looking very solid and real.

There’s the struggle that Arthur watches through the tarp, then Merlin’s scream. It cuts into Arthur like a knife. He dissolves behind the tarp.

“Elphie?” he calls out. His voice breaks. “Elphie?”

When Morgana walks out to do the last scene, he feels like he might run off-stage in a moment of desperate madness, fear high in his throat. Uther is already rising from his seat, as are his guards. They rush the scene, already thrown off by the absence of Madame Morrible. The audience notices but they also see the king and his men mobilizing as Morgana makes her exit.

The _Finale_ rings out. Still no one notices that Arthur is truly alone on stage. He makes his announcement that he wishes to be Glinda the Good for all of Oz.

_“Good news!”_

The trapdoor in the middle of the stage opens, revealing Merlin/Elphaba and Gwaine/Fiyero. The crowd titters at the sight of them.

“We can never come back to Oz, can we?” Merlin/Elphaba asks.

“No,” Gwaine/Fiyero replies with sad conviction.

“I only wish….”

“What?”

“Glinda could know that we’re alive.”

_“Good news!”_

Arthur, a solitary figure beyond the great clock/door leading beyond Oz through which Gwaine and Merlin will leave, near the edge of the stage, sings, allowing vibrato to shine through,

_“Who can say if I’ve been changed for the better, but—”_

_“Because I knew you,”_ Merlin responds softly.

 _“Because I knew you,”_ Arthur sings, his voice rising wonderfully high, almost haunting notes.

 _“I have been changed—”_ they sing.

Arthur hears the door to the giant clock behind them slam shut as Merlin and Gwaine disappear, surely making for the Underground now.

_“No one mourns the wicked! Wicked! Wicked!”_

The stage lights fade to black around Arthur. The curtains draw shut. He draws in a slow breath, listening to his pounding heart and the deafening silence behind the curtain. Beyond, in the theater itself, he can hear Uther’s forces mobilizing. He’d know the sound of those boots marching in unison anywhere. The dead silence of the crowd is another giveaway.

He sucks in a sharp breath and walks through the curtains into the blinding, sweltering lights where Uther and all of Camelot awaits his next move.


	22. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Finale](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A62rT0WpvJY)

**Merlin**

 

“Merlin! What the hell?” Morgana hisses. “We need to get out and lock this place down!”

“I’m going back,” he calls. “Don’t wait up. I’ll handle the entrance.”

“Merlin—”

“I need to make sure he and everyone else in the theater don’t get hurt. Uther’s got a firing squad on hand,” he says, jogging back to them. Merlin’s out of breath when he says, “I’m not going to let anyone else die when there’s something I can do about it.”

Gwaine’s gaze hardens.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

They make it to the trapdoor before Merlin turns back and searches for Morgana, but she’s already out of sight.

“Figures,” Gwaine says sourly.

“She’s had a hell of a night.”

“Haven’t we all,” he snorts. “I don’t trust her one bit, Merlin.”

“Honestly? It’ll take a lot of time for me to trust her again,” he says as he climbs up and raises the trapdoor. He helps Gwaine through before closing it silently.

“Then why give her a chance? After everything she did—”

“Can we do this later?” Merlin whispers. He’s already tiptoeing his way toward the rustling curtains. There’s silence on the other side. Merlin walks to the end near the pulleys and peers out down the stage.

He sees Arthur standing at attention with his hands behind his back and his legs spread in an unshakable stance. Merlin sees a full row of soldiers and officers lining the front of the stage. He can’t see what Arthur’s looking at, but he’s looking straight ahead, and judging by the cool, unreadable expression, he’s looking at his father.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Uther asks. The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitches.

“I think I’ve made myself clear enough, father,” Arthur replies. “I stand with the people of Camelot, sorcerer and non-magical alike. I stand with _all_ of our citizens, and I will fight to make sure this New Purge finally comes to an end. Let it be known that I, Arthur Pendragon, heir to the throne of Camelot, will not be moved on this matter.”

“Yes, and you will remain unmoving in a cell in Meleagant. You stand charged of high treason, conspiring against the crown, and as an accessory to multiple murders, one of which I personally witnessed,” Uther says with equal grace and calm.

“You are the one who caused those things,” Arthur says sharply. He’s more addressing the crowd, littered with council members, than the king now. “You manipulated me and the entire Department of Magical Enforcement into participating in your genocide of sorcerers in Camelot. You sent me undercover to spy on my own sister in order to gather information that you apparently already had. You would have let me die at the hands of the insurgents and let Morgana rot under the palace for the sake of your cause. _These_ are the grounds for your accusations. The crimes you’ve committed, the abuses you’ve perpetrated with your power, are a thousand times graver than any inadvertent crimes I committed while following your orders.

“I will make it known what you’ve done,” he continues. “All of Camelot will know how you’ve hurt its people.”

“And you think they’ll accept you?” Uther sneers. “You profess yourself to be a puppet! Why would they trust _you?_ ”

“I will do everything in my power to do right by them,” Arthur says. “I want that to be very clear. If they choose not to believe me, so be it, but I swear, I will do anything to right the wrongs you committed.”

“I have done no wrongs,” Uther says almost too quietly for Merlin to hear, even with his magic honing in on his voice. “I’ve done what magic claimed it would do – I’ve tried to restore a balance, thrown by what was taken from me.”

Rough, wet coughs abruptly cut Uther off. Merlin watches Arthur strain against the impulse to run – to him or from him, he isn’t sure.

“Arrest him,” Uther rasps.

Arthur looks down at the guards and soldiers before him. Merlin can see recognition in their eyes.

“Arrest him _now_.”

Still no one moves. Merlin starts to smile.

“Let me go in peace, Uther. I’m only making my position known. I will not start a war for the crown. My time is coming soon enough. I can wait,” Arthur says.

“You will be struck from succession shortly.”

“And to whom will the crown go? Morgana?” Arthur snaps back. “After everything you went through to have an heir—”

“Enough. My reign is far from over,” Uther says, though his voice sounds frail enough for the wind to break in half.

“Then you needn’t worry. I won’t stop speaking out against you, but I won’t wage a war. That’s the last thing we need. But if you continue to hurt sorcerers in Camelot, I won’t hesitate to strike back.”

There is a long, pregnant pause. Merlin holds his breath. He looks back over his shoulder at Gwaine, who’s holding a prop sword at the ready. When Merlin looks back, he finds all the guns pointed at Arthur.

 

* * *

 

**Arthur**

 

“I won’t renounce my claim, if that’s what you want,” Arthur says slowly. “Would you really kill your son here, in front of all these people?”

“They’ll carry your message. Isn’t that what you want? Perhaps this is the message I want to send with them as well!”

The curtain flies open on Arthur’s left.

“You’ve bloody _lost_ it, Uther,” Morgana shouts, marching onto the stage with staccato footsteps. She parks herself next to Arthur, arms folded tightly across her chest, legs apart in an equally unshakeable stance. “He’s your _son_. He’s the reason you started the Great Purge in the first place. Would you really kill him? All these years of struggling against magic would be for nothing.”

“I’m choosing to look to the future now,” Uther replies. “I’m glad you’ve joined us, Morgana. You’ve saved me the trouble of hunting you down.”

She laughs softly and shakes her head.

“You _have_ lost it,” she announces. She drops her voice so only Arthur can hear. “Arthur, you need to get out of here before he totally blows it and starts shooting the guns himself.”

Sure enough, Uther rips a gun out of the hands of one of the officers nearest to him. He spews curses as he marches down the central aisle, the barrel aimed straight at Arthur’s chest.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

The sounds of Uther loading the gun and cocking the trigger are sluggish and horrific to Merlin’s ears. He almost doesn’t act quickly enough.

Almost.

The gun goes off, and the bullet stops midair.

Merlin opens his eyes and gasps. Morgana and Arthur dropped to the floor clutching each other, but standing at center stage now with an arm outstretched, fingers curling around a hovering bullet, is a thin apparition of a woman whose face and voice Merlin knows very well – who Uther immediately recognizes. The gun clatters loudly. People in the audience jump and whimper.

“Ygraine,” he breathes. “Ygraine.”

She holds his gaze sadly.

“You know what you’ve done,” she says. Merlin’s magic ripples beneath his skin, but he has very little control over what’s happening. He feels tethered to her; he can feel her disappointment and horror, and her calm resolve that reminds Merlin terribly of Arthur.

“You must let me go now, Uther. Let our son go,” she says.

“My dearest—”

“No,” she says sharply. “No more of this. The man I loved would never harm his family or his people. You’ve done just that!”

“Ygraine—”

“Let us go.”

 

* * *

 

**Morgana**

 

She’s transfixed by what’s happening before her. She knows Merlin’s there somewhere – she _knows_ it’s his magic, but the apparition? It’s no trick. She knows enough to realize that this is truly Ygraine Pendragon’s spirit reprimanding Uther for all he’s done in her name. The anguish in her voice is too real to fabricate, even with magic.

“Let us go,” she commands. She pleads, but she says it with finality, every inch the queen she once was. Uther’s eyes widen as Ygraine vanishes.

Arthur exhales slowly beside her. She extricates her hand from his claw of a grip and helps him to his feet. Her magic is bubbling and ready to lash out, but Uther’s eyes have glazed over. His mouth is slack and there’s something unnatural about the yellowish pallor that’s become so prominent under the harsh stage lights.

“Go.”

It’s hardly a breath, but Morgana hears it. The soldiers and officers hear it, as do the audience. The military and guards file out first, surrounding the king as he lumbers up the aisle and out of sight without a glance back at them. Then, the audience starts to rouse.

One man stands.

“We will share what happened,” he says.

Arthur nods shortly, gratefully. He seems to have swallowed his tongue.

“Thank you,” Morgana says. “We really must be going now. Treason, you know.”

“Be safe getting home,” Arthur adds belatedly as she’s already yanking him back through the curtains. The stage is empty with no sign that Merlin and Gwaine were ever there.

Arthur looks at her. His shock is easy to read, even through the dark.

“Why did you come back?” he asks.

“Couldn’t let you have all the glory could I?” she shrugs.

Arthur cracks a smile at that.

“I’m getting out of here,” she announces, making for the trapdoor. She starts to climb down when she realizes Arthur hasn’t followed her. “Are you going to stand there in the dark, or are you coming?”

“I—”

“Arthur,” she says exasperatedly. “He’s going to be waiting for you forever unless you come now and put him out of his misery.”

“He’d get on fine without me,” Arthur mumbles.

“Don’t be a dumbass. Get your arse down here and let’s get out before Uther changes his mind.”

Morgana leaves the door open for him. She hops off the ladder and climbs over the rubble. When she passes the dragon’s cavern, she hears nothing but silence. She does hear Gwaine kicking his way down the tunnels, though.

She smiles inwardly, pleased with her decisions for the first time in ages.

The throne will be within her reach again someday soon.

She sets off briskly down the cool tunnels, looking forward already to the warmth of the late summer night waiting for her on the other side.

 

* * *

 

**Merlin**

 

The dragon stares at him, as though he’s waiting for Merlin to do something.

“What?” he finally asks.

“Nothing,” Kilgarrah replies, shuffling his wings.

“I’m just waiting for Arthur.”

“If your prince chooses to follow you.”

“He will,” Merlin says, though his confidence in the matter could stand to be higher.

The dragon chuckles.

“Shut up,” Merlin scowls.

Footsteps echo down the hall. Merlin holds his breath, hoping, but he sees Morgana’s long hair whip by the entrance to the cavern. Her footsteps fade just as quickly as they arrive. Merlin slumps against the wall.

He waits fifteen more minutes before rising from where he sits.

Before he leaves, he turns to the dragon,

“I will free you someday. You have my word,” he says. “Today just isn’t that day.”

“I have realized this, young warlock,” he says dryly. “I accept your word and will hold you to your promise. I know that when we meet again, you will be on the cusp of fulfilling your destiny.”

“Hopefully that’s not too far in the future?” he asks.

“I should think not,” Kilgarrah says with what appears to be a smile but is really more a terrifying display of teeth. The dragon turns away and flies deeper into the cavern, taking cover in the shadows.

Merlin sighs.

In the tunnel he pauses.

“Arthur?” he calls. “Arthur, if you’re coming, you’d better come now. I’m going to seal the Underground and I’d rather not crush you with a giant rock or something.”

His voice echoes loudly, but he receives no other response.

Merlin waits another minute before releasing his magic. The walls shake. He worries the ceiling will collapse on him – Merlin braces himself between the narrow walls of the tunnel and shuts his eyes until the tremors and the rumbling cease. When he opens his eyes, he can hardly breathe for all the dust in the air. He can see the debris strewn further up the hall toward the entrance. Merlin coughs as he tries to take a breath. He holds the front of his shirt up over his nose and turns around.

He’s not thinking of Arthur. His eyes don’t sting, and his throat hasn’t gone dry at the thought of Arthur being arrested in the morning, or being executed, or of Merlin simply never seeing his stupid smile ever again.

He _really_ wishes it wasn’t actually goodbye.

A rock rolls down the hall and hits the back of his leg. Merlin stops walking and turns around.

“You really must be thick if you thought you were leaving without me.”

Merlin meets Arthur halfway back down the hall and nearly tackles him to the uneven, dirty ground, a long string of angry curses pouring out of him like there’s no tomorrow. Arthur kisses him and shuts him up quite effectively. Merlin sighs into the kiss and relaxes as Arthur’s arms wind around him. Arthur starts to smile against his lips.

“Job well done?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Merlin nods.

“You were up there, weren’t you?”

“Er.”

“It was your magic that brought my mum back,” Arthur says. “I felt it. I recognized it.”

“I didn’t – I didn’t try to do anything, I swear—”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, hushing him and brushing Merlin’s hair off his forehead with gentle touches. “I’m glad you did. Or your magic did. I have you to thank I’m still alive, yet again.”

“Arthur—”

Arthur kisses him again, kissing him harder and with more energy and _need_ than before. It leaves Merlin breathless.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he murmurs.

“Are you propositioning me, Pendragon?”

“Is that a yes?”

Merlin kisses him once more – a light, glancing blow – before taking Arthur’s hand firmly in his and taking off at a run, a little blue orb lighting their path ahead.


End file.
